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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OE  CALIEORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Douglas  Warner 


401  UJ.U? 


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in  2007  witii  funding  from 

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ECONOMIC  HISTORY  SINCE  1763.  Cambridge,  1889; 
Sth  ed.,  New  York,  191 1. 

SELECT  BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ECONOMICS.  Cam- 
bridge, 1895. 

LIFE,  UNPUBLISHED  LETTERS  AND  PHILO- 
SOPHICAL REGIMEN  OF  THE  THIRD  EARL  OF 
SHAFTESBURY.     London,  igoc 

BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  Two  vols.  New 
York,  1905. 

MODERN  CLASSICAL  PHILOSOPHERS  Boston, 
1907. 

THE  CLASSICAL  MORALISTS.     Boston,  1909. 

THE  CLASSICAL  PSYCHOLOGISTS.     Boston,  191a. 


THE  CLASSICAL  PSYCHOLOGISTS 


THE  CLASSICAL 

PSYCHOLOGISTS 

SELECTIONS 

ILLUSTRATING  PSYCHOLOGY 

FROM  ANAXAGORAS  TO  WUNDT 

COMPILED  BY 

BENJAMIN  RAND,  Ph.D. 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


BOSTON    NEW  YORK    CHICAGO 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


OOrVRIGHT,  1913,  BY  BENJAMIN  RAND 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


iJTiRARY 

CNrVERSTTY  OF  CAIJFORNIA 

SANTA  BAHliAlU 


PREFACE 

"The  Classical  Psychologists"  is  a  companion  volume 
in  the  field  of  psychology  to  the  author's  *'  The  Classical  Moral- 
ists" in  the  sphere  of  ethics,  and  also  to  his  "  Modern  Classical 
Philosophers"  in  the  domain  of  philosophy.  Its  aim  is  to  pre- 
sent in  a  series  of  selections  some  of  the  most  essential  features 
of  the  psychological  doctrines  which  have  appeared  from  Anax- 
agoras  to  Wundt.  The  book  is  thus  virtually  a  history  of  psy- 
chology, not  derived  from  an  ordinary  description  of  systems, 
but  based  upon  extracts  from  original  sources  and  upon  trans- 
lations of  the  authors  themselves.  Such  a  work,  it  is  hoped,  may 
prove  adapted  for  colleges  and  universities  as  a  text-book  of 
reading  accompanying  courses  of  lectures  in  general  psychology, 
and  may  become  a  necessary  requirement  of  study  made  of  all 
students  before  entering  upon  the  study  of  the  special  divisions 
of  existing  psychology.  The  general  reader,  moreover,  will  find 
it  an  interesting  volume  of  original  material  of  the  great 
psychologists  from  the  earliest  to  the  most  recent  times. 

From  Aristotle's  "  De  Anima  "  there  is  reproduced  at  the 
outset  the  first  extant  history  of  psychological  theories.  With 
the  name  of  Anaxagoras,  who  emphasizes  the  Nous  as  present 
in  all  things,  but  with  insight  as  to  its  different  forms  in  mind 
and  matter,  it  was  thought  the  work  might  fittingly  begin.  Em- 
pedocles  is  mentioned,  who  maintains  that  like  is  known  by 
like,  and  that  perception  is  due  to  elements  in  us  coming  in 
contact  with  similar  elements  outside.  Democritus  is  also  in- 
cluded, who  believes  the  soul  to  consist  of  atoms,  the  peculiar 
fineness,  smoothness,  and  mobility  of  which  cause  perception 
and  thought.  The  second  selection  is  taken  from  the  Theaetetus 
of  Plato,  which  Professor  Jowett  describes  as  the  oldest  work 
in  psychology  that  has  come  down  to  us,  and  which  here  con- 
tains the  contending  Sophistic  and  Socratic  views  on  the  nature 


VI  PREFACE 

of  perception.  In  it  Protagoras  affirms  that  the  individual  man 
is  the  measure  of  all  things,  whereas  Socrates  seeks  to  conduct 
Theaetetus  by  means  of  the  dialogue  to  the  acceptance  of  a 
universally  valid  knowledge.  Although  Plato's  psychological 
views  are  scattered  through  various  dialogues,  the  Republic 
best  contains  his  treatment  of  the  fundamental  problem  of  the 
relation  of  soul  and  body.  There  is  consequently  printed  from 
it,  his  presentation  of  the  three  faculties  of  the  soul,  of  the 
correlation  of  the  faculties,  and  of  the  soul's  immortality.  In 
Aristotle  we  have  the  greatest  psychologist  of  the  ancient 
world,  and  the  one  who  first  treated  psychology  as  a  separate 
science.  To  the  introductory  account  of  earlier  theories  by  him, 
with  which  this  work  began,  is  here  added  a  description  from 
the  "  De  Anima"  of  his  own  doctrines.  His  conceptions  of  the 
essence  of  the  soul,  and  its  relation  to  the  body  as  form  to  mat- 
ter, of  the  various  activities  of  the  five  senses  and  the  common 
sense,  and  of  the  functions  of  sensation,  imagination,  and 
thought,  are  given  in  full,  as  their  importance  demands.  From 
Diogenes  Laertius'  "  Lives  and  Opinions  of  Eminent  Philoso- 
phers" is  drawn  the  psychology  of  the  Stoics,  in  which  the  ani- 
mating principle  of  the  soul  is  described  as  a  warm  breath 
within  us,  with  a  resultant  trichotomy  of  body,  soul  and 
spirit.  From  Diogenes  Laertius  is  likewise  taken  the  Epicurean 
psychology,  in  which  the  soul  is  conceived  to  be  a  bodily  sub- 
stance composed  of  exceedingly  fine  atoms,  which  are  allied  in 
nature  to  air  and  fire,  and  are  diffused  throughout  the  whole 
body.  Lucretius  in  the  didactic  poem  on  "The  Nature  of 
Things,"  whereby  Hellenistic  thought  was  transferred  to  Rome, 
follows  next  with  a  description,  like  that  of  Epicurus,  of  sen- 
sation as  everywhere  occurring  in  the  body;  but  he  regards  the 
mind  as  the  directing  principle  "holding  the  fastnesses  of  life. " 
From  the  "Enneades"  of  Plotinus,  who  was  the  most  eminent 
of  the  Neoplatonists,  is  reproduced  the  theory  of  emanation,  in 
which  the  soul  is  deemed  the  image  and  product  of  the  Nous, 
just  as  the  Nous  is  of  the  One. 

In  the  mediaeval  period,  TertuUian,  one  of  the  greatest  of  the 
early  Christian  fathers,  sets  forth  in  the  extracts  presented  from 


PREFACE 


Vll 


his  "Treatise  on  the  Soul,"  the  corporeal  nature  of  the  soul,  its 
simplicity,  its  source  in  the  breath  of  God,  its  rationality,  and 
its  immortality.  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  who  wrote  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  fourth  century,  here  argues  in  the  "  Endowment  of  Man," 
that  the  intellect  pervades  all  parts  of  the  body  alike,  but  has 
in  itself  a  divine  beauty,  since  it  is  created  in  the  image  of 
the  most  beautiful.  Augustine,  in  whom  the  Patristic  period 
reached  its  culmination,  emphasizes  in  his  work  "On  the 
Trinity,"  self-consciousness  as  the  distinguishing  characteristic 
of  the  mind  arising  from  its  immateriality,  and  regards  memory, 
understanding,  and  particularly  will,  as  its  most  important  fac- 
ulties. Thomas  Aquinas,  who  represents  scholasticism  in  its 
full  development,  returns  in  the  "Summa  Theologica"  to  the 
Aristotelian  doctrine  of  the  rational  soul  as  the  essential  form 
of  the  body,  and  contends  as  against  Augustine  for  the  superi- 
ority of  reason  to  will. 

The  modern  period  is  introduced  with  chapters  from  Thomas 
Hobbes'  "Human  Nature,"  in  which  the  founder  of  empirical 
psychology  reduces  all  mental  processes  to  motions.  An  ample 
presentation  is  given  of  Descartes'  "The  Passions  of  the  Soul," 
of  which  Professor  David  Irons  says  that  "it  would  be  difficult 
indeed  to  find  any  treatment  of  the  emotions  much  superior  to  it 
in  originality,  thoroughness,  and  suggestiveness."  Spinoza,  who 
teaches  in  "  The  Ethics"  that  the  soul  and  body  are  not  two 
distinct  substances,  but  that  thought  and  extension  are  two  of 
the  many  attributes  of  the  one  real  being,  seeks  to  prove  by 
the  mathematical  method  in  the  part  reproduced,  that  the 
order  and  connection  of  ideas  are  identical  with  the  order  and 
connection  of  things.  From  Leibnitz'  "Philosophical  Works" 
selections  have  been  made  in  which  he  presents  his  theory  of 
monads,  and  likewise  illustrates  the  interaction  of  soul  and 
body  after  the  manner  of  two  clocks  so  constructed  as  to  run 
in  perfect  harmony.  Christian  Wolff,  whose  name  is  chiefly 
associated  with  the  faculty  psychology,  designates  in  those 
sections  of  the  *'  Rational  Psychology"  here  chosen,  the  vis 
repraesentiva  as  the  fundamental  force  and  sufficient  ground 
for  everything  that  takes  place  in  the  soul. 


VIU 


PREFACE 


English  empirical  psychology  is  next  traced  through  Locke, 
Berkeley,  and  Hume.  From  Locke's  "  Essay  on  the  Human 
Understanding"  there  is  given,  as  Locke  believes, "  the  true 
history  of  the  beginning  of  human  knowledge,"  wherein  all  our 
ideas  are  derived  from  sensation  and  reflection.  Berkeley's 
"Essay  towards  a  new  Theory  of  Vision"  is  reproduced  with 
desirable  fullness,  as  it  contains  his  noted  research  into  the  differ- 
ence between  the  ideas  of  sight  and  touch,  wherein  he  draws 
the  striking  inference  that  the  visible  world  is  a  visible  lan- 
guage, which  we  learn  to  translate  into  the  tactual  experience 
that  the  visible  phenomena  naturally  signify.  Hume  in  the 
chapters  from  the  "Treatise  of  Human  Nature"  would  resolve 
all  perceptions  of  the  human  mind  into  ''impressions"  and 
"ideas,"  differing  only  in  force  and  liveliness,  and  also  would 
derive  our  conception  of  necessary  connection  solely  from  the 
experience  of  the  constant  association  of  certain  objects. 
Hartley  was  the  chief  precursor  of  English  associational  psy- 
chology, although  preceded  as  he  confesses  by  the  modest  Gay, 
and  from  the  "Observations  on  Man"  are  reprinted  his  two 
principal  doctrines  of  vibrations,  and  of  association. 

Charles  Bonnet,  the  Swiss,  and  an  early  founder  of  physiolo- 
gical psychology,  in  the  "Analytical  Essay  upon  the  Faculties 
of  the  Soul"  of  which  his  own  "Abstract"  has  been  in  part 
translated,  lays  stress  throughout  on  the  dependence  of  psychical 
phenomena  upon  physical  conditions,  and  considers  the  divers- 
ity of  mental  perceptions  as  really  due  to  the  different  struc- 
tures of  the  various  sensory  fibres.  The  French  psychologist 
Condillac,  in  the  chapters  from  the  "Treatise  of  Sensations;," 
views  all  psychical  functions  as  transformations  of  sensations, 
and  graphically  illustrates  his  theory  by  the  endowment  of  a 
marble  statue  with  the  different  senses  of  man  in  succession. 
From  Reid,  founder  of  the  Scotch  School  of  common  sense, 
those  portions  of  the  "Essays  on  the  Intellectual  Powers  of 
Man"  are  given  in  which  he  analyzes  the  fundamental  acts  of 
sensation  and  perception,  contending  that  the  former  is  confined 
to  the  soul,  but  that  the  latter  implies  a  belief  in  the  existence  of 
an  external  world.    Brown's  eloquent  "Lectures  on  the  Philo- 


PREFACE  ix 

sophyof  the  Human  Mind,"  published  after  his  death,  contains 
a  most  subtle  and  brilliant  analysis  of  muscular  sensations, 
the  inclusion  of  which,  it  is  believed,  must  add  substantial 
value  to  the  pages  of  this  work. 

With  Herbart's  "  Textbook  of  Psychology"  begins  scientific 
psychological  research,  in  which  from  the  intensive  relations  of 
ideas  and  the  laws  of  their  change  it  is  sought  to  derive  the  pos- 
sibility and  necessity  of  applying  mathematics  to  psychology. 
In  Beneke's  "  Textbook  of  Psychology  as  Natural  Science"  a 
profound  German  psychologist  seeks  to  reduce  all  psychical 
phenomena  to  four  "  fundamental  processes."  Drobisch,  who 
may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  distinguished  representatives  of 
mathematical  psychology,  presents  in  his  "  Empirical  Psychol- 
ogy," the  dynamics  of  ideas  as  the  fundamental  principle  of  ex- 
planation of  psychical  phenomena.  Maine  de  Biran,  whom 
Cousin  thought  the  first  metaphysician  of  the  nineteenth  cent- 
ury, has  written  some  most  instructive  chapters  in  his  "Essay 
upon  the  Foundations  of  Psychology,"  wherein  he  treats  of 
voluntary  effort  as  the  primordial  fact  of  our  psychical  life, 
analyzing  it  into  the  two  distinct  but  inseparable  elements  of 
will  and  resistance  of  our  own  body,  from  which  he  derives  the 
beginning  of  personality. 

The  revival  of  English  associational  psychology  is  to  be 
found  in  the  chapters  taken  from  James  Mill's  "Analysis  of  the 
Phenomena  of  the  Human  Mind";  but  its  fullest  fruition  ap- 
pears in  the  laws  of  association  reproduced  at  considerable 
length  from  Bain's  *'  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect."  The  cardi- 
nal feature  of  Spencer's  "  Principles  of  Psychology  "  is  here  pre- 
sented in  the  evolution  of  mind  "  from  an  indefinite  incoherent 
homogeneity  to  a  definite  coherent  heterogeneity."  The  selec- 
tion from  Johannes  Mueller's  "Elements  of  Physiology"  will 
render  more  accessible  his  very  important  account  of  the  gen- 
eral laws  of  sensation.  A  fitting  place  is  naturally  given  also  to 
Lotze's  theory  of  "  local  signs"  as  embodied  in  his  "  Outlines  of 
Psychology." 

In  more  recent  psychology,  translations  from  Weber's  "  The 
Sense  of  Touch  and  the  Common  Feeling"  of  his  well  known 


X  PREFACE 

Law,  and  from  Fechner's  "  Elements  of  Psychophysics  "  of  hia 
"  Measurement  of  Sensation,"  are  indispensable  contributions  in 
the  domain  of  psychophysics,  being  the  experiments  of  the  former, 
well  described  by  Professor  E.  B.  Titchener,  as  "the  founda- 
tion stone  of  experimental  psychology,"  and  the  interpretation 
of  the  latter  as  the  erection  in  large  measure  of  "  a  whole  build- 
ing." The  Young-Helmholtz  theory  of  color  vision  has  been 
translated  from  Helmholtz's  "  Manual  of  Physiological  Optics, " 
which  is  regarded  as  the  most  important  work  that  has  yet  ap- 
peared on  the  physiology  and  physics  of  vision.  "  The  Funda- 
mental Principles  of  a  Theory  of  Light  Sensation"  by  Hering 
will  serve  also  to  supplement  those  of  Helmholtz,  as  a  necessary 
foundation  for  the  study  of  the  more  recent  valuable  contribu- 
tions which  have  been  made  to  this  subject.  From  Mach's 
"  Analysis  of  Sensations"  is  reproduced  his  theory  of  space  per- 
ception, preceded  by  an  account  of  the  self  intuition  of  the  ego, 
which  "  every  student  of  psychology  should  know."  Stumpf's 
"Tone  Psychology"  contains  a  theory  of  tonal  fusion,  written 
by  a  recognised  authority  in  this  domain.  The  remarkable 
chapter  of  William  James  entitled  "The  Stream  of  Conscious- 
ness "  is  taken  from  his  introductory  "  Psychology. "  Then  fol- 
lows the  James-Lange  theory  of  emotions,  in  which  a  novel  doc- 
trine is  set  forth  by  both  writers  with  unusual  brilliancy  of 
style.  Most  characteristic  and  authoritative  chapters  from 
Wundt's  "Principles  of  Physiological  Psychology"  on  the 
problem  of  physiological  psychology,  and  from  his  "  Outlines  of 
Psychology"  on  volition  and  apperception,  conclude  the  work. 
The  outline  of  the  selections  in  the  preceding  paragraphs 
traces  the  attempt,  here  made  for  the  first  time,  to  present  his- 
torically in  a  single  volume  original  texts  containing  funda- 
mental theories  of  the  classical  psychologists,  alike  in  ancient, 
mediaeval,  and  modern  times.  The  study  of  psychology  as  pur- 
sued to-day  in  several  important  divisions  might  suggest  the 
desirability  of  a  work  of  recent  material  from  these  various  do- 
mains. An  historical  volume  of  the  character  of  this  book  was, 
however,  deemed  not  only  more  in  harmony  with  the  other  works 
of  the  author's  series,  but  also  as  much  more  necessary  for  the 


PREFACE  xi 

use  of  students  before  entering  upon  investigations  in  special 
fields.  Whilst  a  chronological  order  has  been  followed  in  gen- 
eral, slight  variations  have  made  it  possible  to  group  psycho- 
logists somewhat  according  to  their  schools,  and  the  emphasis, 
moreover,  in  the  most  recent  period,  has  been  placed  on  the 
selection  of  those  important  laws  and  theories  which  have  al- 
ready taken  on  a  classical  importance.  The  selections  have 
been  given  with  sufficient  fullness,  it  is  hoped,  always  to  repro- 
duce the  author  and  subject  in  an  intelligible  and  connected 
way.  Authorities  will  differ  concerning  the  choice  of  authors 
and  subjects.  In  this  matter  important  advice  has  been  re- 
ceived from  the  psychologists  alike  of  Harvard  University  and 
also  of  other  large  American  Universities.  Although  such  valu- 
able opinion  always  has  been  carefully  considered,  the  responsi- 
bility for  the  final  decision  naturally  rests  upon  the  editor. 

Thirteen  authors  appear  in  this  work  in  selections  trans- 
lated for  the  first  time  into  English.  To  my  colleague  Pro- 
fessor Edward  Kennard  Rand,  of  the  classical  department  of 
Harvard  University,  I  am  indebted  for  the  translation  from  the 
Latin  of  "The  essence  and  nature  of  the  soul"  contained  in 
Christian  Wolff's  "  Rational  Psychology";  and  to  Dr.  Herbert 
Sidney  Langfeld  of  the  Harvard  Psychological  Department  for 
the  translation  from  the  German  of  "  The  measurement  of  sen- 
sation" in  Gustav  Fechner's  ''Elements  of  Psychophysics." 
The  translations  from  the  Greek  of  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  from  the 
Latin  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  from  the  French  of  Charles  Bonnet 
and  Maine  de  Biran,  and  from  the  German  of  Friedrich  Ed- 
uard  Beneke,  Moritz  Wilhelm  Drobisch,  Ernst  Heinrich 
Weber,  Heinrich  von  Helmholtz,  Ewald  Hering,  Carl  Stumpf, 
and  Carl  Lange  in  the  text  of  H.  Kurella,  have  been  made 
by  the  author  of  this  work.  In  French  Professor  Irving  Babbitt 
and  Dr.  C.  J.Ducasse,and  in  German  Prof.  W.  G.  Howard  and 
Dr.  J.  Loewenberg  of  Harvard  have  made  valuable  suggestions. 
My  thanks  for  permission  to  reprint  selections  of  various  psy- 
chologists are  also  due  to  the  publishers  and  translators  whose 
names  will  be  found  at  the  beginning  of  the  respective  chapters 
accompanying  the  titles  of  the  works  thus  utilized.  The  book 


ai  PREFACE 

will  best  attain  its  desired  aims  if  its  representative  selections 
shall  serve  to  inspire  the  perusal  of  the  complete  works  of  the 
classical  psychologists,  and  if  it  shall  aid  in  any  measure  to 
maintain  the  importance  and  prestige  of  classical  psychology. 

Benjamin  Rand. 

Emekson  Hall,  Harvabd  Univeesity. 


CONTENTS 

ANCIENT 

I.  ANAXAGORAS  (500-428  b.c),  EMPEDOCLES 
(490-430),  DEMOCRITUS   (460-370) 

From  ARISTOTLE'S  DE  ANIMA i-io 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  R.  D.  Hicks. 

BOOK  I.   Chap.    I.   Introduction  of  Aristotle    .    .  i 

BOOK  I.   Chap.  II.   Early  Psychological  Theories  .  5 

II.  PROTAGORAS  (480-411),  SOCRATES  (469-399) 

From  PLATO'S  THEAETETUS 11-26 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  Samuel  Walters  Dyde. 
THE  NATURE  OF  PERCEPTION ix 

III.  PLATO  (427-347) 

THE  REPUBLIC 27-44 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  J.  L.  Davies  and  D.  J.  Vaughan. 

BOOK  IV,  The  Three  Faculties  of  the  Soul.    .    .  27 

BOOK  VI,  The  Correlation  of  the  Faculties     .    .  36 

BOOK    X.   The  Soul's  Immortality 41 

IV.  ARISTOTLE  (384-322) 

PSYCHOLOGY 4S-83 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  William  Alexander  Hammond. 
BOOK  II.   The  Faculties  of  the  Soul. 

Chap.        I.  The  Definition  of  the  Soul 45 

Chap,      II,  The  Principle  of  Life       47 

Chap.     III.  The  Various  Meanings  of  the  Soul    ...  51 

Chap.     IV.  The  Soul  and  Final  Cause 52 

Chap.       V.  Sensation  and  Thought 56 

Chap.     VI.  Sense  Qualities 59 

BOOK  III.   Sensation,  Imagination  and  Thought. 

Chap.        I,  The 'Common  Sensibles' 60 

Chap.      II,  The  'Common  Sense' 62 

Chap.     Ill,  Imagination 66 

Chap.     IV,  The  Theory  of  Reason 70 

Chap.       V.  Active  and  Passive  Reason 73 

Chap.      VI.  Thought  and  Truth 73 

Chap.    VII.  Thought  and  its  Object 75 

Chap.  VIII.  Ideas  and  Images 77 


£v  CONTENTS 

Chap.     IX,  Reason  and  Desire 78 

Chap.       X.  Psychology  and  Conduct 80 

Chap.     XI.  The  Moving  Principle 82 

V.  ZENO  (356-264) 

From  DIOGENES    LAERTIUS'   LIVES  AND   OPIN- 
IONS OF  EMINENT  PHILOSOPHERS  ....     84-88 
Translated  from  the  Greek  by  Charles  D.  Yonge. 
BOOK  VII.   The  Psychology  or  the  Stoics  ....  84 

VI.  EPICURUS  (341-270) 

From  DIOGENES   LAERTIUS'  LIVES  AND   OPIN- 
IONS OF  EMINENT  PHILOSOPHERS       .    .    .      89-96 
Translated  from  the  Greek  by  Charles  D.  Yonge. 
BOOK  X.   The  Epicurean  Psychology 89 

Vn.  TITUS  LUCRETIUS  CARUS   (95-51) 

ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 97-ios 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  H.  A.  J.  Munro. 
BOOK  III.    The  Mind 97 

VIII.    PLOTINUS  (205  A.D.-270) 

ENNEADES 106-115 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  Thomas  Taylor. 

VII.  The  Soul 106 

VIII-IX.  The  Intellect 113 


PATRISTIC  AND  MEDIAEVAL 

IX.  QUINTUS  SEPTIMIUS  FLORENS  TERTUL- 
LIANUS  (160-220) 

A  TREATISE  ON  THE  SOUL 1 16-124 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  Peter  Holmes. 

Chap.       IV.  The  Soul  Created 116 

Chap.         V.  The  Soul's  Corporeal  Nature     ...  117 

Chap.        X.  The  Soul's  Simplicity .  118 

Chap.     XII.  The  Mind  and  the  Soul       120 

Chap.    XVI.  The  Soul's  Rationality 122 

Chap.  XXII.  Recapitulation 123 

X.  GREGORY  OF  NYSSA  (331-394) 

THE  ENDOWMENT  OF  MAN 125-131 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
Chap.  XII.  The  Location  op  the  Intellect      ...         125 


CONTENTS  XV 

XI.  SAINT  AUGUSTINE  (354-430) 

ON  THE  TRINITY 132-137 

Translated  front  the  Latin  by  Arthur  West  Haddan. 
BOOK  X.  Chap.    X.  The  Nature  of  Mind  ....         132 
BOOK  X.  Chap.  XI.   Memory,   Understanding,    and 
Will .         13S 

XII.  THOMAS  AQUINAS   (1225-1274) 

SUMMA  THEOLOGICA 138-146 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
QUESTION  LXXVI.  Rationality  the  Essential  Form 

IN  Man 138 

QUESTION   LXXVI.  The  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body         143 
QUESTION  LXXXII.  The  Superiority  of  Reason  to 
Will i4S 

MODERN 

XIII.  THOMAS  HOBBES  (1588-1679) 

HUMAN  NATURE 147-167 

Chap.       I.  Introduction 147 

Chap.     II.  Sense  and  its  main  deception 148 

Chap.    III.  Imagination  and  Dreams 153 

Chap.    IV.  Thought 156 

Chap.    VI.  Knowledge  and  Belief       160 

Chap.  VII.  The  Passions       163 

Chap.  XII.  The  Will 165 

XIV.  RENfi  DESCARTES  (1596-1650) 

THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL 168-190 

Translated  from  the  French  by  Henry  A.  P.  Torrey. 

XV.  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA  (1632-1677) 

THE  ETHICS 191-207 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  George  Stuart  Fullerton. 
PART  II.   Of  the  Nature  and  Origin  of  the  Mind. 
(Prop.  I-XXIII,  XLVIII-XLIX.)  191 

XVI.  GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

(1646-17 16) 

PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS 208-228 

Translated  from  the  French  by  George  Martin  Duncan. 
XI.  A  new  System  of  Nature,  and  of  the  Interaction 
OF  Substances,  as  well  as  of  the  Union  which  exists 

BETWEEN  THE  SoUL  AND  THE  BODY.     Z695 ^^ 


xvi  CONTENTS 

XIV.  Second  Explanation  of  the  System  of  Commxtni- 

CATION   BETWEEN   SUBSTANCES.     1 696 21 8 

XXXII.  The  Principles  OF  Nature  AND  OF  Geace.  1714         220 

XVn.  CHRISTIAN  VON  WOLFF  (1679-1754) 

RATIONAL  PSYCHOLOGY. 229-231 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  Edward  Kennard  Rand. 
The  Essence  and  Nature  of  the  Soul 229 

XVIII.  JOHN  LOCKE   (1632-1704) 

AN  ESSAY  CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTAND- 
ING  232-2SS 

BOOK    I,  Chap.  I.  Introduction 232 

BOOK  II.  Of  Ideas. 

Chap.        I.  Of  Ideas  in  General 234 

Chap.       II.  Of  Simple  Ideas 236 

Chap.     III.  Of  Simple  Ideas  of  Sense 237 

Chap.     IV.  Idea  of  Solidity 239 

Chap.      VI.  Of  Simple  Ideas  of  Reflection 240 

Chap.    VII.  Of  Simple  Ideas  of  both  Sensation  and  Re- 
flection ' 241 

Chap.  VIII.  Some  Further  Considerations    concerning 

our  Simple  Ideas  of  Sensation 242 

Chap.     IX.  Of  Perception 246 

Chap.    XII.  Of  Complex  Ideas 249 

BOOK  IV.    Of  Knowledge 

Chap.  I.  Of  Knowledge  in  General 253 

XIX.  GEORGE  BERKELEY  (1685-1753) 

AN  ESSAY  TOWARDS  A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  256-278 

XX.  DAVID  HUME  (1711-1766) 

A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE 279-3" 

BOOK  I.    Of  the  Understanding. 
PART  I.   Of  Ideas,  Their  Origin,  Composition,  Con- 
nexion, &c. 

Section        I.  Of  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas 279 

Section       II.  Division  of  the  Subject 285 

Section     III.  Of  the  Ideas  of  the  Memory  and  Imagina- 
tion    286 

Section     IV.  Of  the  Connexion  or  Association  of  Ideas  287 

Section       V.  Of  Relations 290 

Section     VI.  Of  Modes  and  Substances 29a 

PART  III.    Of  Knowledge  and  Probability. 
Section       I.  Of  Knowledge     . 294 


CONTENTS  xvii 

Section      II.  Of  Probability;  and  of  the  Idea  of  Cause 

and  Effect 297 

Section  XIV.  Of  the  Idea  of  Necessary  Connexion  .    .         302 

XXI.  DAVID  HARTLEY  (1705-1757) 
OBSERVATIONS    ON    MAN,    HIS    FRAME,    HIS 

DUTY,  AND  HIS  EXPECTATIONS 313-330 

PART  I.    Introduction 313 

Chap.      I.  The  Doctrines  of  Vibrations  and  Association 

in  General 31S 

Section  I.  The  Doctrine  of  Vibrations,  and  its  use  for 

explaining  the  Sensations 316 

Section  II.  Of    Ideas,  their   Generation   and  Associa- 
tions       320 

XXII.  CHARLES  BONNET   (17  20-1 793) 

ABSTRACT  OF  THE  ANALYTICAL  ESSAY  UPON 

THE  FACULTIES  OF  THE  SOUL 331-340 

Translated  from  the  French  by  Benjamin  Rand. 

XXIII.  ETIENNE    BONNOT    DE    CONDILLAC 

(1715-1780) 

TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS 341-360 

Translated  from  the  French  by  Frederick  C.  de  Sumichrast. 
Chap.  I-III,  VI-VII.  First  Notions,  Will  and  Person- 
V  ality  of  a  Man  limited  to  the  Sense  of  Smell     .    .         341 

XXIV.  THOMAS  REID   (17 10-1796) 

ESSAYS    ON  THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS   OF 

MAN 361-373 

ESSAY  II.   Of  the  Powers  we  have  by  means  of  our 
External  Senses. 

Chap.       V.  Of  Perception 361 

Chap.  XVI.  Of  Sensation 367 

X^V.  THOMAS  BROWN  (1778-1820) 

LECTURES  ON  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HU- 
MAN  MIND 374-394 

PART  II.   Of  the  External  Affections  of  the  Mind. 
\      u;                Chap.  V.    Section    I.  The  Muscular  Sensations .     .     .  374 

|A\a\  Chap.  V.    Section  II.  Space  Perception 380 

\^V   V      \  PART  ni.   Of  the  Intellectual  States  of  the  Mind. 

Chap.   I.    Section  II.  Simple  and  Relative  Suggestion  .         389 


^ 


xviii  CONTENTS 

toCVI.  JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART  (1776- 
1841) 

A  TEXT-BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY 395-415 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Margaret  K.  Smith. 
PART  I.  Fundamental  PioNaPLES. 
Chap.     I.  The  Condition  of  Concepts,  when  they  act  as 

Forces 395 

Chap.    II.  Equilibrium  and  Movement  of  Concepts .    .         397 

Chap.  III.  Complications  and  Blendings 400 

Chap.  IV.  Concepts  as  the  Source  of  Mental  States      .         408 
Chap.     V.  The  Co-operation  of  Several  Masses  of  Con- 
cepts of  Unequal  Strength   411 

Chap.  VI.  The  Connection  between  Body  and  Soul .    .         413 

XXVII.  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE  (1798- 

1854) 

A  TEXT-BOOK  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL 

SCIENCE 416-431 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
Chap.     I.  Fundamental  Processes  of  Psychical  De- 
velopment               416 

Chap.    II.  The  Fundamental  Nature  of  the  Human 

Soul       424 

Chap.  III.  The  Relation  or  the  Soxn,  and  the  Body    .         426 

XXVIII.  MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH  (1802- 
1896) 

EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  ACCORDING  TO  THE 

METHODS  OF  NATURAL  SCIENCE    ....  432-447 
Translated  from  the  German  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
FIFTH  SECTION.  The  Fundamental  Explanation  of 

the  Psychical  Life. 
ni.  The  Dynamics  of  Ideas  as  a  Principle  or  Explana- 
tion OF  Psychical  Phenomena. 
§  138.  Interdependence  of  Psychical  Phenomena    ...  432 

§  139.  The  Unity  of  the  Soul  as  a  Bond  of  Connection  of 

Psychical  Phenomena 433 

§  140.  The  Refutation  of  the  Faculty  Concept       .    .    .  435 

§  141.  Ideas  as  States  and  not  Powers  of  the  Mind    .    .  437 

§  142.  The  Freedom  and  Inhibition  of  Ideas      ....  439 

§  143.  The  Inhibition  of  Opposing  Ideas 440 

§  144.  The  Origin  of  Feelings  and  Desires 442 

§  145.  The  Equilibrium  and  Movement  of  Ideas    .    .    .  443 

§  146.  The  Stages  in  the  Formation  of  the  Spirit  .    .    .         44S 


^  CONTENTS  XIX 

:iX.  FRANCOIS  PIERRE  GONTHIER  MAINE 
DE  BIRAN  (i  766-1824) 

ESSAY  UPON  THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHO- 
LOGY     >    .    .  448-462 

Translated  from  the  French  by  Benjamin  Rand. 

Chap.     I.  Facts  of  the  Inner  Sense 448 

Chap.    II.  The  Origin  of  Effort,  and  of  Personality         455 

XXX.  JAMES  MILL  (1773-1836) 

ANALYSIS  OF  THE  PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN 

MIND 463-482 

Chap.  III.  The  Assooation  of  Ideas 463 

XXXI.  ALEXANDER  BAIN  (1818-1903) 

THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT 483-504 

BCXDK  II.    The  Intellect 483 

Chap.      I.  Retentiveness  —  Law  of  Contiguity    .    .    .         486 
Chap.    II.  Agreement  —  Law  of  Similarity      ....         490 

Chap.  III.  Compound  Association 496 

Chap.  IV.  Of  Constructive  Association 504 

XXXII.  HERBERT  SPENCER  (1820-1903) 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 505-529 

PART  II.    The  Inductions  of  Psychology. 

Chap.  II.  The  Composition  of  Mind 505 

XXXIII.  JOHANNES  MUELLER  (1801-1858) 

ELEMENTS  OF  PHYSIOLOGY 530-544 

Translated  from  the  German  by  William  Baly. 
BOOK  V.    Of  the  Senses. 
The  General  Laws  of  Sensation 530 

XXXIV.  RUDOLF  HERMANN  LOTZE  (1817-1881) 

OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 545-556 

Translated  from  the  German  by  George  Trumbull  Ladd. 
Chap.  IV.  The  Intuitions  of  Space       545 

XXXV.  ERNST  HEINRICH  WEBER  (1795-1878) 

THE    SENSE   OF   TOUCH   AND    THE    COMMON 

FEELING 557-561 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
Weber's  Law 557 


XX  CONTENTS 

XXXVI.  GUSTAV  THEODOR  FECHNER  (1801-' 

1887) 

ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOPHYSICS 562-572 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Herbert  Sidney  Lang f eld. 

VII.   The  Measurement  op  Sensation 562 

XIV.  The  Fundamental  Formula  and  the  Measure- 
ment Formula 565 

XXXVII.  HERMANN  VON  HELMHOLTZ  (1821- 

1894) 

A  MANUAL  OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL  OPTICS    .    .    .  S73-s8i 
Translated  from  the  German  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
Theory  of  Color  Vision S73 

XXXVIII.  EWALDHERING   (1834-        ) 

THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION 582-596 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
Fundamental  Principles  of  a  Theory  of  Light  Sens- 
ation 

§  25.  Prefatory  Remarks 582 

§  26.  The  Nature  of  the  Psychophysical  Processes  .    .    .  585 

§  27.  Visual  Sensation  as  Psychical  Correlate  of  Chemical 

Processes  in  the  Visual  Substance 587 

§  28.  The  Deduction  of  Various  Corollaries 592 

§  29.  The  Weight  of  Visual  Sensations 595 

XXXIX.  ERNST  MACH  (1838-       ) 

CONTRIBUTIONS    TO   THE   ANALYSIS    OF    THE 

SENSATIONS 597-6i8 

Translated  from  the  German  by  C.  M.  Williams. 

The  Sensations  as  Elements 597 

The  Space-Sensations 611 

XL.  CARL  STUMPF  (1848-       ) 

THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE 619-632 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Benjamin  Rand. 

§  19.  The  Degrees  of  Tonal  Fusion 619 

S  20.  The  Cause  of  Tonal  Fusion 629 

XLI.  WILLIAM  JAMES   (1842-1910) 

PSYCHOLOGY 633-671 

Chap.       XI.  The  Stream  of  CoNsaousNESS    ....         633 
Chap,  XXIV.  Emotion 655 


CONTENTS  xxi 

XLII.  CARL  GEORG  LANGE  (1834-1900) 

THE  EMOTIONS 672-684 

Translated  from  the  German  of  H.  Kurella  by  Benjamin  Rand. 
The  Mechanism  of  the  Emotions 672 

XLIII.  WILHELM  WUNDT  (1832-        ) 

PRINCIPLES  OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  68SH596 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Edward  Bradford  Titchener. 
Introduction. 

§  I.  The  Problem  of  Physiological  Psychology  ....  685 

§  3.  Prepsychological  Concepts 691 

OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 697-726 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Charles  Hubbard  Judd. 
II.  Psychical  "Compounds. 

§  14.  Volitional  Processes 697 

III.  Interconnection  of  Psychical  Compounds. 

§  17.  Apperceptive  Combinations .  711 

INDEX 727 


THE 
CLASSICAL  PSYCHOLOGISTS 


ANAXAGORAS         EMPEDOGLES 

(500-428  B.C.)  (490-430) 

DEMOGRITUS 

(460-370) 

From  ARISTOTLE'S  DE  ANIMA 

Translated  from  the  Greek*  by 
R.   D.    HICKS 

BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  I  — INTRODUCTION  OF  ARISTOTLE 

Cognition  is  in  our  eyes  a  thing  of  beauty  and  worth,  and  this 

is  true  of  one  cognition  more  than  another,  either  because  it  is 

exact  or  because  it  relates  to  more  important  and  remarkable 

objects.  On  both  these  grounds  we  may  with  good  reason  claim 

a  high  place  for  the  enquiry  concerning  the  soul.  It  would  seem, 

too,  that  an  acquaintance  with  the  subject  contributes  greatly 

to  the  whole  domain  of  truth  and,  more  particularly,  to  the 

study  of  nature,  the  soul  being  virtually  the  principle  of  all 

animal  life.  Our  aim  is  to  discover  and  ascertain  the  nature  and 

essence  of  soul  and,  in  the  next  place,  all  the  accidents  belonging 

to  it;  of  which  some  are  thought  to  be  attributes  peculiar  to  the 

soul  itself,  while  others,  it  is  held,  belong  to  the  animal  also,  but 

owe  their  existence  to  the  soul.  But  everywhere  and  in  every 

way  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  arrive  at  any  trustworthy  con- 

*  From ' ApiffToriXovi  Iltol  ^vxvi.    Reprinted  from  Aristotle's  De  Anima, 
translated  by  R,  D.  Hicks.  Cambridge,  University  Press,  1907. 


2  INTRODUCTION 

elusion  on  the  subject.  It  is  the  same  here  as  in  many  other 
enquiries.  What  we  have  to  investigate  is  the  essential  nature 
of  things  and  the  What.  It  might  therefore  be  thought  that 
there  is  a  single  procedure  applicable  to  all  the  objects  whose 
essential  nature  we  wish  to  discover,  as  demonstration  is  appli- 
cable to  the  properties  which  go  along  with  them :  in  that  case 
we  should  have  to  enquire  what  this  procedure  is.  If,  however, 
there  is  no  single  procedure  common  to  all  sciences  for  defining 
the  What,  our  task  becomes  still  more  difficult,  as  it  will  then 
be  necessary  to  settle  in  each  particular  case  the  method  to  be 
pursued.  Further,  even  if  it  be  evident  that  it  consists  in  de- 
monstration of  some  sort  or  division  or  some  other  procedure, 
there  is  still  room  for  much  perplexity  and  error,  when  we  ask 
from  what  premisses  our  enquiry  should  start,  for  there  are  dif- 
ferent premisses  for  different  sciences;  for  the  science  of  num- 
bers, for  example,  and  plane  geometry. 

The  first  thing  necessary  is  no  doubt  to  determine  under 
which  of  the  summa  genera  soul  comes  and  what  it  is;  I  mean, 
whether  it  is  a  particular  thing,  i.e.  substance,  or  is  quality  or 
is  quantity,  or  falls  under  any  other  of  the  categories  already 
determined.  We  must  further  ask  whether  it  is  amongst  things 
potentially  existent  or  is  rather  a  sort  of  actuality,  the  distinc- 
tion being  all-important.  Again,  we  must  consider  whether  it 
is  divisible  or  indivisible;  whether,  again,  all  and  every  soul  is 
homogeneous  or  not;  and,  if  not,  whether  the  difference  be- 
tween the  various  souls  is  a  difference  of  species  or  a  difference 
of  genus:  for  at  present  discussions  and  investigations  about 
soul  would  appear  to  be  restricted  to  the  human  soul.  We  must 
take  care  not  to  overlook  the  question  whether  there  is  a  single 
definition  of  soul  answering  to  a  single  definition  of  animal;  or 
whether  there  is  a  different  definition  for  each  separate  soul,  as 
for  horse  and  dog,  man  and  god:  animal,  as  the  universal,  being 
regarded  either  as  non-existent  or,  if  existent,  as  logically  pos- 
terior. This  is  a  question  which  might  equally  be  raised  in  re- 
gard to  any  other  common  predicate.  Further,  on  the  assump- 
tion that  there  are  not  several  souls,  but  merely  several  different 
parts  in  the  same  soul,  it  is  a  question  whether  we  should  begin 


ARISTOTLE'S  DE  ANIMA  3 

by  investigating  soul  as  a  whole  or  its  several  parts.  And  here 
again  it  is  difficult  to  determine  which  of  these  parts  are  really 
distinct  from  one  another  and  whether  the  several  parts,  or 
their  functions,  should  be  investigated  first.  Thus,  e.g.,  should 
the  process  of  thinking  come  first  or  the  mind  that  thinks,  the 
process  of  sensation  or  the  sensitive  faculty?  And  so  everywhere 
else.  But,  if  the  functions  should  come  first,  again  will  arise  the 
question  whether  we  should  first  investigate  the  correlative 
objects.  Shall  we  take,  e.g.,  the  sensible  object  before  the  fac- 
ulty of  sense  and  the  intelligible  object  before  the  intellect? 

It  would  seem  that  not  only  is  the  knowledge  of  a  thing's 
essential  nature  useful  for  discovering  the  causes  of  its  attri- 
butes, as,  e.g.,  in  mathematics  the  knowledge  of  what  is  meant 
by  the  terms  straight  or  curved,  line  or  surface,  aids  us  in  dis- 
covering to  how  many  right  angles  the  angles  of  a  triangle  are 
equal :  but  also,  conversely,  a  knowledge  of  the  attributes  is  a 
considerable  aid  to  the  knowledge  of  what  a  thing  is.  For  when 
we  are  able  to  give  an  account  of  all,  or  at  any  rate  most,  of  the 
attributes  as  they  are  presented  to  us,  then  we  shall  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  define  most  exactly  the  essential  nature  of  the  thing. 
In  fact,  the  starting  point  of  every  demonstration  is  a  defini- 
tion of  what  something  is.  Hence  the  definitions  which  lead 
to  no  information  about  attributes  and  do  not  facilitate  even 
conjecture  respecting  them  have  clearly  been  framed  for  dia- 
lectic and  are  void  of  content,  one  and  all. 

A  further  difficulty  arises  as  to  whether  all  attributes  of  the 
soul  are  also  shared  by  that  which  contains  the  soul  or  whether 
any  of  them  are  peculiar  to  the  soul  itself:  a  question  which  it  is 
indispensable,  and  yet  by  no  means  easy,  to  decide.  It  would 
appear  that  in  most  cases  soul  neither  acts  nor  is  acted  upon 
apart  from  the  body:  as,  e.g.,  in  anger,  confidence,  desire  and 
sensation  in  general.  Thought,  if  anything,  would  seem  to  be 
peculiar  to  the  soul.  Yet,  if  thought  is  a  sort  of  imagination, or 
not  independent  of  imagination,  it  will  follow  that  even  thought 
cannot  be  independent  of  the  body.  If,  then,  there  be  any  of 
the  functions  or  affections  of  the  soul  peculiar  to  it,  it  will  be 
possible  for  the  soul  to  be  separated  from  the  body :  if,  on  the 


4  INTRODUCTION 

other  hand,  there  is  nothing  of  the  sort  peculiar  to  it,  the  soul 
will  not  be  capable  of  separate  existence.  As  with  the  straight 
line,  so  with  it.  The  line,  qua  straight,  has  many  properties;  for 
instance,  it  touches  the  brazen  sphere  at  a  point;  but  it  by  no 
means  follows  that  it  will  so  touch  it  if  separated.  In  fact  it  is 
inseparable,  since  it  is  always  conjoined  with  body  of  some  sort. 
So,  too,  the  attributes  of  the  soul  appear  to  be  all  conjoined  with 
body:  such  attributes,  viz.,  as  anger,  mildness,  fear,  pity,  cour- 
age; also  joy,  love  and  hate;  all  of  which  are  attended  by  some 
particular  affection  of  the  body.  This  indeed  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  sometimes  violent  and  palpable  incentives  occur  with- 
out producing  in  us  exasperation  or  fear,  while  at  other  times 
we  are  moved  by  slight  and  scarcely  perceptible  causes,  when 
the  blood  is  up  and  the  bodily  condition  that  of  anger.  Still 
more  is  this  evident  from  the  fact  that  sometimes  even  without 
the  occurrence  of  anything  terrible  men  exhibit  all  the  symp- 
toms of  terror.  If  this  be  so,  the  attributes  are  evidently  forms 
or  notions  realised  in  matter.  Hence  they  must  be  defined  ac- 
cordingly:  anger,  for  instance,  as  a  certain  movement  in  a  body 
of  a  given  kind,  or  some  part  or  faculty  of  it,  produced  by  such 
and  such  a  cause  and  for  such  and  such  an  end.  These  facts  at 
once  bring  the  investigation  of  soul,  whether  in  its  entirety  or 
in  the  particular  aspect  described,  within  the  province  of  the 
natural  philosopher.  But  every  such  attribute  would  be  differ- 
ently defined  by  the  physicist  and  the  dialectician  or  philoso- 
pher. Anger,  for  instance,  would  be  defined  by  the  dialectician 
as  desire  for  retaliation  or  the  like,  by  the  physicist  as  a  ferment 
of  the  blood  or  heat  which  is  about  the  heart:  the  one  of  them 
gives  the  matter,  the  other  the  form  or  notion.  For  the  notion 
is  the  form  of  the  thing,  but  this  notion,  if  it  is  to  be,  must  be 
realised  in  matter  of  a  particular  kind;  just  as  in  the  case  of  a 
house.  The  notion  or  definition  of  a  house  would  be  as  follows: 
a  shelter  to  protect  us  from  harm  by  wind  or  rain  or  scorching 
heat;  while  another  will  describe  it  as  stones,  bricks  and  tim- 
ber; and  again  another  as  the  form  realised  in  these  materials 
and  subserving  given  ends.  Which  then  of  these  is  the  true  phy- 
sicist? Is  it  he  who  confines  himself  to  the  matter,  while  ignor- 


ARISTOTLE'S  DE  ANIMA  5 

ing  the  form?  Or  he  who  treats  of  the  form  exclusively?  I  an- 
swer, it  is  rather  he  who  in  his  definition  takes  account  of  both. 
What  then  of  each  of  the  other  two?  Or  shall  we  rather  say 
that  there  is  no  one  who  deals  with  properties  which  are  not 
separable  nor  yet  treated  as  separable,  but  the  physicist  deals 
with  all  the  active  properties  or  passive  affections  belonging  to 
body  of  a  given  sort  and  the  corresponding  matter?  All  attri- 
butes not  regarded  as  so  belonging  he  leaves  to  someone  else: 
who  in  certain  cases  is  an  expert,  a  carpenter,  for  instance,  or 
a  physician.  The  attributes  which,  though  inseparable,  are  not 
regarded  as  properties  of  body  of  a  given  sort,  but  are  reached 
by  abstraction,  fall  within  the  province  of  the  mathematician: 
while  attributes  which  are  regarded  as  having  separate  exist- 
ence fall  to  the  first  philosopher  or  metaphysician.  But  to 
return  to  the  point  of  digression.  We  were  saying  that  the 
attributes  of  the  soul  are  as  such,  —  I  mean,  as  anger  and 
fear,  inseparable  from  the  physical  matter  of  the  animals  to 
which  they  belong,  and  not,  like  line  and  surface,  separable  in 
thought. 


CHAPTER  11  — EARLY  PSYCHOLOGICAL  THEORIES 

In  our  enquiry  concerning  soul  it  is  necessary  to  state  the 
problems  which  must  be  solved  as  we  proceed,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  collect  the  views  of  our  predecessors  *  who  had  anything 
to  say  on  the  subject,  in  order  that  we  may  adopt  what  is  right 
in  their  conclusions  and  guard  against  their  mistakes.  Our  en- 
quiry will  begin  by  presenting  what  are  commonly  held  to  be  in 
a  special  degree  the  natural  attributes  of  soul.  Now  there  are 
two  points  especially  wherein  that  which  is  animate  is  held  to 
differ  from  the  inanimate,  namely,  motion  and  the  act  of  sensa- 
tion :  and  these  are  approximately  the  two  characteristics  of  soul 
handed  down  to  us  by  our  predecessors.  There  are  some  who 

*  Aristotle  introduces  here  the  first  extant  history  of  psychological  theo- 
ries. 


6  ANAXAGORAS 

maintain  that  soul  is  preeminently  and  primarily  the  cause  of 
movement.  But  they  imagined  that  that  which  is  not  itself  in 
motion  cannot  move  anything  else,  and  thus  they  regarded  the 
soul  as  a  thing  which  is  in  motion.  Hence  Democritus  affirms 
the  soul  to  be  a  sort  of  fire  or  heat.  For  the  "shapes "  or  atoms 
are  infinite  and  those  which  are  spherical  he  declares  to  be  fire 
and  soul :  they  may  be  compared  with  the  so-called  motes  in  the 
air,  which  are  seen  in  the  sunbeams  that  enter  through  our  win- 
dows. The  aggregate  of  such  seeds,  he  tells  us,  forms  the  consti- 
tuent elements  of  the  whole  of  nature  (and  herein  he  agrees  with 
Leucippus),  while  those  of  them  which  are  spherical  form  the 
soul,  because  such  figures  most  easily  find  their  way  through 
everything  and,  being  themselves  in  motion,  set  other  things  in 
motion.  The  atomists  assume  that  it  is  the  soul  which  imparts 
motion  to  animals.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  they  make  life  de- 
pend upon  respiration.  For,  when  the  surrounding  air  presses 
upon  bodies  and  tends  to  extrude  those  atomic  shapes  which, 
because  they  are  never  at  rest  themselves,  impart  motion  to 
animals,  then  they  are  reinforced  from  outside  by  the  entry  of 
other  like  atoms  in  respiration,  which  in  fact,  by  helping  to 
check  compression  and  solidification,  prevent  the  escape  of  the 
atoms  already  contained  in  the  animals;  and  life,  so  they  hold, 
continues  so  long  as  there  is  strength  to  do  this.  The  doctrine 
of  the  Pythagoreans  seems  also  to  contain  the  same  thought. 
Some  of  them  identified  soul  with  the  motes  in  the  air,  others 
with  that  which  sets  these  motes  in  motion :  and  as  to  these 
motes  it  has  been  stated  that  they  are  seen  to  be  in  incessant 
motion,  even  though  there  be  a  perfect  calm.  The  view  of 
others  who  describe  the  soul  as  that  which  moves  itself  tends  in 
the  same  direction.  For  it  would  seem  that  all  these  thinkers 
regard  motion  as  the  most  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  soul. 
Everything  else,  they  think, is  moved  by  the  soul,  but  the  soul  is 
moved  by  itself :  and  this  because  they  never  see  anything  cause 
motion  without  itself  being  in  motion.  Similarly  the  soul  is  said 
to  be  the  moving  principle  by  Anaxagoras  and  all  others  who 
have  held  that  mind  sets  the  universe  in  motion;  but  not  alto- 
gether in  the  same  sense  as  by  Democritus.  The  latter,  indeed, 


ARISTOTLE'S  DE  ANIMA  7 

absolutely  identified  soul  and  kind,  holding  that  the  presenta- 
tion to  the  senses  is  the  truth :  hence,  he  observed,  Homer  had 
well  sung  of  Hector  in  his  swoon  that  he  lay  'with  other 
thoughts.'  Democritus,  then,  does  not  use  the  term  mind  to  de- 
note a  faculty  conversant  with  truth,  but  regards  mind  as  iden- 
tical with  soul.  Anaxagoras,  however,  is  less  exact  in  his  use  of 
the  terms.  In  many  places  he  speaks  of  mind  as  the  cause  of 
goodness  and  order,  but  elsewhere  he  identifies  it  with  the  soul : 
as  where  he  attributes  it  to  all  animals,  both  great  and  small, 
high  and  low.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  mind  in  the  sense 
of  intelligence  would  not  seem  to  be  present  in  all  animals  alike, 
nor  even  in  all  men. 

Those,  then,  who  have  directed  their  attention  to  the  motion 
of  the  animate  being,  conceived  the  soul  as  that  which  is  most 
capable  of  causing  motion:  while  those  who  laid  stress  on  its 
knowledge  and  perception  of  all  that  exists  identified  the  soul 
with  the  ultimate  principles,  whether  they  recognised  a  plu- 
rality of  these  or  only  one.  Thus  Empedocles  compounded  soul 
out  of  all  the  elements,  while  at  the  same  time  regarding  each 
one  of  them  as  a  soul.  His  words  are  "With  earth  we  see  earth, 
with  water  water,  with  air  bright  air,  but  ravaging  fire  by  fire, 
love  by  love,  and  strife  by  gruesome  strife."  In  the  same  man- 
ner Plato  in  the  Timaeus  constructs  the  soul  out  of  the  ele- 
ments. Like,  he  there  maintains,  is  known  by  like,  and  the 
things  we  know  are  composed  of  the  ultimate  principles.  In 
like  manner  it  was  explained  in  the  lectures  on  philosophy, 
that  the  self-animal  or  universe  is  made  up  of  the  idea  of  One, 
and  of  the  idea-numbers  Two,  or  primary  length,  Three,  pri- 
mary breadth,  and  Four,  primary  depth,  and  similarly  with  all 
the  rest  of  the  ideas.  And  again  this  has  been  put  in  another 
way  as  follows :  reason  is  the  One,  knowledge  is  the  Two,  because 
it  proceeds  by  a  single  road  to  one  conclusion,  opinion  is  the 
number  of  a  surface,  Three,  and  sensation  the  number  of  a  solid. 
Four.  In  fact,  according  to  them  the  numbers,  though  they  are 
the  ideas  themselves,  or  the  ultimate  principles,  are  neverthe- 
less derived  from  elements.  And  things  are  judged,  some  by 
reason,  others  by  knowledge,  others  again  by  opinion  and  others 


8  EMPEDOCLES 

by  sensation:  while  these  idea-numbers  are  forms  of  things. 
And  since  the  soul  was  held  to  be  thus  cognitive  as  well  as 
capable  of  causing  motion,  some  thinkers  have  combined  the 
two  and  defined  the  soul  as  a  self-moving  number. 

But  there  are  differences  of  opinion  as  to  the  nature  and 
number  of  the  ultimate  principles,  especially  between  those 
thinkers  who  make  the  principles  corporeal  and  those  who  make 
them  incorporeal;  and  again  between  both  of  these  and  others 
who  combine  the  two  and  take  their  principles  from  both.  But, 
further,  they  differ  also  as  to  their  number:  some  assuming  a 
single  principle,  some  a  plurality.  And,  when  they  come  to  give 
an  account  of  the  soul,  they  do  so  in  strict  accordance  with  their 
several  views.  For  they  have  assumed,  not  unnaturally,  that 
the  soul  is  that  primary  cause  which  in  its  own  nature  is  capable 
of  producing  motion.  And  this  is  why  some  identified  soul  with 
fire,  this  being  the  element  which  is  made  up  of  the  finest  parti- 
cles and  is  most  nearly  incorporeal,  while  further  it  is  preemi- 
nently an  element  which  both  moves  and  sets  other  things  in 
motion.  Democritus  has  expressed  more  neatly  the  reason  for 
each  of  these  facts.  Soul  he  regards  as  identical  with  mind,  and 
this  he  makes  to  consist  of  the  primary  indivisible  bodies  and 
considers  it  to  be  a  cause  of  motion  from  the  fineness  of  its  par- 
ticles and  their  shape.  Now  the  shape  which  is  most  susceptible 
of  motion  is  the  spherical;  and  of  atoms  of  this  shape  mind, 
like  fire,  consists.  Anaxagoras,  while  apparently  understand- 
ing by  mind  something  different  from  soul,  as  we  remarked 
above,  really  treats  both  as  a  single  nature,  except  that  it  is 
preeminently  mind  which  he  takes  as  his  first  principle;  he 
says  at  any  rate  that  mind  alone  of  things  that  exist  is  simple, 
unmixed,  pure.  But  he  refers  both  knowledge  and  motion  to 
the  same  principle,  when  he  says  that  mind  sets  the  universe  in 
motion.  Thales,  too,  apparently,  judging  from  the  anecdotes 
related  of  him,  conceived  soul  as  a  cause  of  motion,  if  it  be  true 
that  he  affirmed  the  loadstone  to  possess  soul,  because  it  at- 
tracts iron.  Diogenes,  however,  as  also  some  others,  identified 
soul  with  air.  Air,  they  thought,  is  made  up  of  the  finest  parti- 
cles and  is  the  first  principle:  and  this  explains  the  fact  that  the 


ARISTOTLE'S  DE  ANIMA  9 

soul  knows  and  is  a  cause  of  motion,  knowing  by  virtue  of  being 
the  primary  element  from  which  all  else  is  derived,  and  causing 
motion  by  the  extreme  fineness  of  its  parts.  Heraclitus  takes 
soul  for  his  first  principle,  as  he  identifies  it  with  the  vapour 
from  which  he  derives  all  other  things,  and  further  says  that  it 
is  the  least  corporeal  of  things  and  in  ceaseless  flux ;  and  that 
it  is  by  something  in  motion  that  what  is  in  motion  is  known ; 
for  he,  like  most  philosophers,  conceived  all  that  exists  to  be 
in  motion.  Alcmaeon,  too,  seems  to  have  had  a  similar  concep- 
tion. For  soul,  he  maintains,  is  immortal  because  it  is  like  the 
beings  which  are  immortal;  and  it  has  this  attribute  in  virtue  of 
being  ever  in  motion:  for  he  attributes  continuous  and  unending 
motion  to  everything  which  is  divine,  moon,  sun,  stars  and  the 
whole  heaven.  Among  cruder  thinkers  there  have  been  some, 
like  Hippon,  who  have  even  asserted  the  soul  to  be  water.  The 
reason  for  this  view  seems  to  have  been  the  fact  that  in  all  ani- 
mals the  seed  is  moist:  in  fact,  Hippon  refutes  those  who  make 
the  soul  to  be  blood  by  pointing  out  that  the  seed  is  not  blood, 
and  that  this  seed  is  the  rudimentary  soul.  Others,  again,  like 
Critias,  maintain  the  soul  to  be  blood,  holding  that  it  is  sentience 
which  is  most  distinctive  of  soul  and  that  this  is  due  to  the 
nature  of  blood.  Thus  each  of  the  four  elements  except  earth 
has  found  its  supporter.  Earth,  however,  has  not  been  put  for- 
ward by  anyone,  except  by  those  who  have  explained  the  soul 
to  be  derived  from,  or  identical  with,  all  the  elements. 

Thus  practically  all  define  the  soul  by  three  characteristics, 
motion,  perception  and  incorporeality;  and  each  of  these  char- 
acteristics is  referred  to  the  ultimate  principles.  Hence  all  who 
define  soul  by  its  capacity  for  knowledge  either  make  it  an  ele- 
ment or  derive  it  from  the  elements,  being  on  this  point,  with 
one  exception,  in  general  agreement.  Like,  they  tell  us,  is  known 
by  like ;  and  therefore,  since  the  soul  knows  all  things,  they  say 
it  consists  of  all  the  ultimate  principles.  Thus  those  thinkers 
who  admit  only  one  cause  and  one  element,  as  fire  or  air,  assume 
the  soul  also  to  be  oneelement;  while thosewhoadmitaplurality  ^ 
of  principles  assume  plurality  also  in  the  soul.  Anaxagoras  alone 
says  that  mind  cannot  be  acted  upon  and  has  nothing  in  com- 


lo  DEMOCRITUS 

mon  with  any  other  thing.  How,  if  such  be  its  nature,  it  will 
know  anything  and  how  its  knowledge  is  to  be  explained,  he 
has  omitted  to  state;  nor  do  his  utterances  afford  a  clue.  All 
those  who  introduce  pairs  of  opposites  among  their  principles 
make  the  soul  also  to  consist  of  opposites;  while  those  who  take 
one  or  other  of  the  two  opposites,  either  hot  or  cold  or  some- 
thing else  of  the  sort,  reduce  the  soul  also  to  one  or  other  of  these 
elements.  Hence,  too,  they  etymologise  according  to  their  the- 
ories; some  identify  soul  with  heat,  deriving  ^rjv  from  ^elv,  and 
contend  that  this  identity  accounts  for  the  word  for  Ufe;  others 
say  that  what  is  cold  is  called  soul  from  the  respiratory  process 
and  consequent  "cooling  down,"  deriving  "^vxv  from  ■yjrvxetv. 
Such,  then,  are  the  views  regarding  soul  which  have  come  down 
to  us  and  the  grounds  on  which  they  are  held. 


PROTAGORAS        SOCRATES 

(480-411)  (469-399) 

From  PLATO'S  rHEAErETUS 

Translated  from  the  Greek'^  by 
SAMUEL    WALTERS   DYDE 

TEE  NATURE  OF  PERCEPTION 
Socrates  Theaetetus 

Steph.  152. 

Soc.  .  .  .  Knowledge  is  perception,  you  say? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  This  is  surely  no  trifling  matter,  for  you  have  likely 
given,  though  in  other  words,  the  definition  of  Protagoras.  He 
says  that  man  is  the  measure  of  all  things  {ttclvtcov  %/j7;/xaTci>i/ 
fierpov  avOpwTTov),  both  of  the  existence  of  things  which  exist, 
and  the  non-existence  of  things  which  exist  not  {rSiv  fiev  ovtcov,  m 
eari,  rSiv  he  fir)  ovtwv,  &)?  ovk  eariv) .  Have  you  never  read  that? 

Theaet.  Yes,  many  a  time. 

Soc.  Does  he  not  mean  that  things  exist  for  me  as  they  ap- 
pear {(^aivrjrai)  to  me,  and  for  you  as  they  appear  to  you,  since 
you  and  I  are  men? 

Theaet.  So  he  says,  at  any  rate. 

Soc.  As  it  is  highly  probable  that  a  wise  man  does  not  talk 
nonsense,  let  us  look  for  his  meaning.  Sometimes  when  the 
wind  is  blowing  on  all  alike  is  not  one  of  us  cold  and  another 
not,  or  one  slightly  and  another  exceedingly  cold? 

Theaet.  No  doubt. 

Soc.  In  that  case  shall  we  say  that  the  wind  in  itself  {avTo  i<f>* 
eavTo)  is  cold  or  not  cold?  Or  shall  we  agree  with  Protagoras 
that  it  is  cold  to  him  who  is  cold  and  not  to  him  who  is  not? 

Theaet.  Protagoras  seems  to  be  right. 

*  From  nxdrwcas  OeatrT/roj.  Reprinted  from  The  Theaetetus  of  Plato,  trans- 
lated by  S.  W.  Dyde.    Glasgow,  1899. 


12  PROTAGORAS 

Soc.  Then  it  is  to  each  as  it  appears  to  him? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  what  appears  is  perceived? 

Theaet.  Truly. 

Soc.  Then  in  the  case  of  such  things  as  heat  and  cold  appear- 
ance {(^avraaia)  and  perception  are  one  and  the  same.  Every 
such  thing,  I  daresay,  exists  as  it  is  perceived? 

Theaet.  That  would  seem  to  be  so. 

Soc.  And  perception  of  reality  (toO  ovto<s),  since  it  is  know- 
ledge, can  never  be  false? 

Theaet.  So  it  appears. 

Soc.  Then  charmingly  keen-witted  was  it  of  Protagoras  to 
hint  darkly  at  these  things  to  us  of  the  common  crowd,  while 
telling  the  truth  to  his  disciples  in  secret. 

Theaet.  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Socrates? 

Soc.  I  shall  tell  you  of  a  by  no  means  contemptible  theory 
to  the  effect  that  nothing  exists  purely  by  itself  {avro  Kaff"  avro), 
nor  can  you  rightly  give  anything  an  exclusive  name.  If  you 
speak  of  the  large,  you  suggest  the  small,  if  of  the  heavy,  you 
suggest  the  light,  and  so  on.  Nothing,  be  it  either  an  attribute 
{tlvo^),  or  a  kind  of  thing  (ottoiovovv)  ,  exists  alone  (eyo?). 
Moreover,  it  is  inaccurate  to  speak  of  existence  as  the  result  of 
motion,  collision  and  combination,  since  nothing  really  exists, 
but  everything  is  always  in  process  of  change  (yiyveTai).  On 
this  point  the  whole  array  of  wise  men,  except  Parmenides,  are 
agreed,  Protagoras,  Heraclitus,  Empedocles,  also  the  most 
famous  names  in  both  kinds  of  poetry,  in  comedy  Epicharmus, 
and  in  tragedy  Homer.  When  Homer  says:  Ocean  and  mother 
Tethys  are  the  parents  of  the  gods,  he  means  that  all  the  gods 
have  sprung  from  ceaseless  movement  {por}<i  re  koI  Kivijaeax;). 
Do  you  not  think  that  this  was  his  view? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  Could  we  contend  with  this  mighty  host,  whose  captain 
is  Homer,  without  laying  ourselves  open  to  ridicule? 

Theaet.  It  would  be  a  risk,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Yes  indeed,  Theaetetus,  since  there  are  good  proofs  that 
what  appears  to  be  and  comes  into  existence  is  produced  by 


PLATO'S  THEAETETUS  13 

motion,  and  what  does  not  exist  and  perishes  is  produced  by 
rest.  For  example,  heat  and  fire,  which  produce  and  nourish 
everything  else,  are  themselves  produced  by  friction,  which  is 
motion.  Is  not  that  the  source  of  fire? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  has  not  the  race  (yevo^)  of  animals  sprung  from 
the  same  source? 

Theaet.  It  has  surely. 

Soc.  Why,  what  else?  Is  not  the  fashion  (e^t?)  of  the  body 
destroyed  by  rest  and  inaction  and  preserved  largely  by  exercise 
and  movement? 

Theaet.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  the  soul,  is  it  not  taught  and  preserved  and  im- 
proved by  study  and  practice,  which  are  motions,  while  through 
idleness,  neglect  and  inattention  it  fails  to  learn,  or  what  it 
learns  it  forgets? 

Theaet.  That  is  true. 

Soc.  Is  motion  not  a  good,  then,  for  soul  and  body,  and  rest 
the  reverse  of  good? 

Theaet.  Evidently, 

Soc.  May  I  not  say  further  that  storms  preserve,  while  still- 
ness and  calm  and  all  such  states  of  rest  corrupt  and  destroy? 
And  I  am  constrained  to  give  this  crowning  illustration,  that  so 
long  as  the  universe  and  the  golden  chain,  as  Homer  calls  the 
sun,  move  onward  in  their  course,  all  things  divine  and  human 
manifestly  contrive  to  exist  and  are  preserved;  but,  if  they 
should  stand  still,  everything  would  be  destroyed,  and  then 
would  come  to  pass  the  saying  that  the  whole  world  is  turned 
upside  down. 

Theaet.  Your  explanation,  I  think,  is  clear,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Consider  this,  my  friend,  with  regard  first  of  all  to  the 
sense  of  sight.  What  you  call  whiteness  does  not  exist  in  your 
eyes  nor  as  an  object  outside  of  them,  nor  could  you  assign  to  it 
any  particular  place,  for  it  would  then  be  something  fixed  and 
stationary  and  not  continuously  generated. 

Theaet.  How  is  that? 

Soc.  Let  us  apply  our  former  argument,  in  which  we  decided 


14  PROTAGORAS 

that  nothing  exists  as  one  thing  and  utterly  by  itself,  and  it  will 
appear  that  white,  black,  or  any  other  colour  is  produced  when 
the  glance  of  the  eye  comes  into  contact  with  the  proper  mo- 
tion. What  we  call  a  colour  is  neither  the  eye  nor  the  object, 
but  something  which  arises  between  them,  and  is  different  with 
different  individuals.  Or,  would  you  contend  that  a  colour  ap- 
pears to  you  as  it  does  to  an  animal,  a  dog  for  instance? 

Theaet.  No  indeed,  I  would  not. 

Soc.  Then  would  you  hold  that  two  human  beings  might 
have  the  same  perceptions?  Are  you  not  sure,  rather,  that  not 
even  to  yourself  does  a  thing  twice  appear  the  same,  since  both 
you  and  it  are  continually  changing? 

Theaet.  Yes,  I  feel  sure  of  that. 

Soc.  Yet  if  the  object,  which  we  touch  and  compare  in  size 
with  ourselves,  be  large  or  white  or  hot,  it  would  not,  when 
contrasted  with  one  thing,  be  different  from  what  it  is  when 
contrasted  with  another,  provided  that  it  itself  had  suffered  no 
change.  Or,  if  it  is  the  faculty,  whether  of  measuring  or  touch, 
which  is  large  or  white  or  hot,  then,  if  it  were  itself  unmodified, 
it  would  not  be  changed  merely  by  experiencing  and  coming 
into  contact  with  different  objects.  So,  you  see,  our  want  of 
thought  leads  us  into  amazing  absurdities,  as  Protagoras  and 
his  school  would  say. 

Theaet.  What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

Soc.  You  will  understand  what  I  mean,  if  I  use  a  simple 
illustration.  If  you  take  six  dice,  you  would  say  that  they,  when 
compared  with  four,  were  more  by  half  as  many  again,  and 
when  compared  with  twelve  they  were  less  and  only  one-half. 
Could  you  deny  the  truth  of  that? 

Theaet.  No  indeed. 

Soc.  Well  then,  if  Protagoras  or  somebody  else  says  to  you, 

0  Theaetetus,  can  a  thing  possibly  become  more  or  greater, 
unless  it  be  increased?  What  will  you  answer? 

Theaet.  If  I  answer  the  simple  question  as  I  really  think, 

1  must  say  No,  but  in  view  of  what  you  have  just  said  and  to 
avoid  a  contradiction,  I  must  say  Yes. 

,    Soc.  Well  and  divinely  spoken,  friend!  And  yet  it  strikes  me 


PLATO'S  THEAETETUS  15 

that  if  you  say  Yes,  it  will  be  with  you  according  to  the  saying 
of  Euripides:  'The  tongue  will  be  unrefuted,  but  the  mind  not 
unrefuted.' 

Theaet.  True. 

Soc.  If  we  had  been  veteran  sophists  {havol  kol  cro^oi),  you 
and  I,  and  had  carefully  scrutinized  all  the  things  of  the 
mind,  we  would  at  the  very  outset  have  made  an  abundant 
trial  of  our  opponents,  as  they  of  us;  we  would  have  come  up  to 
the  contest  warily  (a-o</)tcrTt/ca)9),  and  there  would  have  been  a 
clashing  of  words  with  words.  But,  as  it  is,  we  are  only  private 
folks  whose  foremost  wish  is  to  behold  things  as  they  are  {avTci 
7r/309  avrd),  and  to  see  if  our  thoughts  are  consistent  or  not. 

Theaet.  That  is  certainly  my  desire. 

Soc.  And  mine.  Shall  we  not,  then,  as  we  have  lots  of  time, 
retrace  our  steps  a  little,  and  examine  ourselves  calmly  and 
earnestly,  in  order  to  see  what  these  images  in  us  are?  The  first 
of  them  we  shall,  I  think,  decide  to  be  that  nothing  ever  be- 
comes more  or  less  either  in  size  or  number,  while  it  is  equal  to 
itself.  Is  not  that  so? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  the  second  is  that  that,  to  which  nothing  is  added 
and  from  which  nothing  is  taken  away,  is  neither  increased  nor 
diminished,  but  is  always  equal  to  itself. 

Theaet.  Assuredly. 

Soc.  Is  there  not  a  third,  that  nothing,  which  did  not  exist 
before,  can  now  exist,  without  becoming  and  having  become  ? 

Theaet.  Agreed. 

Soc.  These  three  postulates,  I  think,  were  striving  together 
in  our  soul  when  we  spoke  of  the  dice,  and  are  present  again  in 
the  following  instance :  Suppose  that  you  were  shorter  than  I  at 
the  beginning  of  the  year,  but  taller  at  the  end,  not  because  I 
had  diminished  in  size,  for  men  of  my  age  do  not  change,  but 
because  you,  who  are  young,  had  meanwhile  grown.  It  is  mani- 
fest that  I  was  once  what  I  was  not  afterwards,  although  I  had 
not  become.  For,  as  to  haye  become  is  plainly  impossible  with- 
out becoming,  I  could  not  have  become  smaller  without  losing 
in  size.  And  there  are  thousands  of  similar  instances,  if  indeed 


i6  PROTAGORAS 

we  choose  to  admit  them.  I  see  that  you  follow  me,  Theaetetus, 
for  you  are  likely  not  unacquainted  with  such  puzzles. 

Theaet.  By  the  gods,  Socrates,  when  I  look  into  them  I  am 
smitten  with  wonder,  and  truly  sometimes  my  brain  reels. 

Soc.  So  Theodorus  made  not  a  bad  guess  at  your  disposi- 
tion, my  friend,  since  the  very  state  of  a  philosopher  is  wonder. 
Indeed  the  man  seems  to  have  been  a  wise  genealogist  who  said 
that  Iris  was  the  daughter  of  Thaumas,  for  wonder  is  the  only 
beginning  of  philosophy.  Do  you  begin  to  understand  what  is 
the  solution  of  your  difficulty  on  the  views  which  we  are  ascrib- 
ing to  Protagoras? 

Theaet.  Not  yet. 

Soc.  Will  you  count  it  a  favour  if  I  examine  with  you  into  the 
secret  reasoning,  which  is  held  as  the  truth  by  him  and  other 
celebrated  men  ? 

Theaet.  I  will  count  it  a  very  great  favour. 

Soc.  Look  over  the  company,  so  that  no  profane  person  may 
overhear.  For  there  are  people  who  believe  in  nothing  but  what 
they  can  fasten  upon  with  both  hands,  contending  that  action 
and  generation  and  all  the  things,  which  are  not  seen,  do  not 
exist  at  all. 

Theaet.  They  must  be  hardened  and  repulsive  creatures. 

Soc.  That  they  are,  my  boy,  utterly  illiterate.  But  it  is 
another  much  more  subtle  sect,  of  whose  mysteries  I  mean  to 
inform  you.  Their  first  principle,  that  upon  which  our  state- 
ment depends,  is  that  all  is  motion  {to  irav  Kivr)(n<;)  or  that 
nothing  exists  except  motion.  There  are  two  kinds  (et'S??)  of 
motion,  each  unlimited  in  its  range,  to  act  and  to  suffer  or  be 
acted  upon.  From  the  strife  and  union  of  these  two  powers 
(Svvdfiei';)  is  produced  an  innumerable  brood  twofold  in  its 
nature,  namely  the  object  of  sense,  and  sense,  which  is  always 
connate  and  coincident  with  it,  object.  The  sensible  percep- 
tions are  called  sight,  hearing,  smell,  the  sense  of  hot  and  cold, 
and  also  pleasures,  pains,  desires  and  fears.  These  and  many 
others  have  names,  and  there  are  oumberless  others  without 
names.  Correlative  with  sight  are  colours  of  all  kinds,  sounds 
with  heari'^  1.  and  with  each  of  the  other  senses  its  kindred 


PLATO'S  THEAETETUS  17 

objects.  Has  this  tale  anything  to  do,  Theaetetus,  with  what 
has  gone  before  ?  Do  you  know  ? 

Theaet.  Socrates,  I  do  not. 

Soc.  Give  heed,  then,  and  you  shall  see  the  connection.  All 
these  things,  as  we  have  said,  are  in  movement.  Now  in  the 
movement  of  them  there  are  swiftness  and  slowness.  That 
which  is  slow  moves  in  one  place,  and  is  affected  by  things  close 
at  hand,  and  so  produces,  but  the  things  produced  by  it  are 
swifter,  since  their  movement  is  a  change  of  place.  Let  us  sup- 
pose that  the  eye  and  its  corresponding  visible  object  approach 
and  produce  whiteness  and  the  concomitant  sensation,  a  result 
which  would  not  take  place  if  either  the  eye  or  the  object  came 
into  contact  with  anything  else.  When  the  union  of  these  two 
occurs,  sight  moving  from  the  eye  and  meeting  whiteness  mov- 
ing from  the  object,  which  helps  to  produce  the  colour,  the  eye 
becomes  filled  with  vision,  and  now  sees,  and  becomes  not  vision 
but  seeing  eye.  The  object,  in  turn,  having  aided  in  making 
the  colour,  is  filled  with  whiteness,  and  becomes  not  whiteness 
but  white,  be  it  wood  or  stone  or  any  object,  which  chanced  to 
be  of  this  colour.  All  other  sensations,  hard,  warm  and  the  rest, 
must  be  treated  in  the  same  way.  Not  one  of  them,  as  we  have 
said  already,  can  be  understood  as  having  any  existence  of  itself 
{avro  KaO'  avro),  but  all  are  produced  by  movement  through 
union  each  with  its  proper  counterpart.  There  can  be  no  solid 
cognition  (vorjaaL) ,  as  they  say,  of  either  the  active  element  or 
the  passive  element  taken  separately  (eTrl  evo?) ;  for  there  is  an 
active  element  only  as  it  is  found  in  union  with  the  passive,  and 
a  passive  element  only  as  it  is  found  in  union  with  the  active. 
The  uniting  and  active  element,  when  it  comes  into  contact  with 
another  thing,  is  to  be  regarded  as  passive.  Accordingly  on  all 
these  counts,  nothing,  as  we  said  at  the  outset,  exists  as  one 
thing  by  itself  {ev  avjo  kuO'  avro),  but  everything  always 
becomes  for  some  other  thing  {tlvl  r^lr^vecrdaL).  Being  or 
existence  (to  elvai)  must  be  thoroughly  eradicated,  though  we 
are  often,  as  just  now,  compelled,  it  would  seem,  through  cus- 
tom and  ignorance  to  make  use  of  the  term.  And  yet,  according 
to  the  wise  (01  ao<^oC),  we  must  not  permit  anyone  to  use  such 


l8  PROTAGORAS 

expressions  as  'it*  or  *of  it'  or  'mine'  or  'this'  or  'that'  or  any 
other  name  which  gives  fixity,  but  only  to  conform  to  nature 
and  say  that  things  become,  are  in  process  of  creation,  and  are 
being  destroyed  and  changed.  Thus,  if  anyone  in  an  argument 
establishes  anything,  he  is  easy  to  refute.  Besides,  we  must 
speak  in  this  way  not  only  of  separate  things  but  of  any  collec- 
tion, such  as  man,  stone,  any  species  of  animal  or  any  genus 
(etSo?).  Do  these  things  seem  pleasant  to  you,  Theaetetus, 
and  have  they  a  grateful  flavour? 

Theaet.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,  Socrates,  for  I  cannot  de- 
cide whether  you  believe  what  you  say  or  are  only  making  trial 
of  me. 

Soc.  You  really  forget,  my  friend,  that  I  know  nothing  and 
produce  nothing  of  my  own,  for  I  am  childless.  But  I  wait  on 
you,  and  therefore  seek  to  charm  you  by  giving  you  to  taste  of 
every  philosopher  (o-o^o?),  until  at  last  I  may  have  aided  in 
bringing  your  theory  out  into  the  light.  When  this  is  done,  I 
shall  see  whether  it  is  an  empty  thing  or  a  genuine  reality.  So, 
be  bold,  and  persevere,  and  answer  sturdily  to  what  I  ask  you. 

Theaet.  Well  then,  put  your  questions. 

Soc.  Tell  me  again  if  you  are  satisfied  that  nothing  is,  but  all 
is  ever  becoming,  the  good  and  beautiful  as  well  as  all  the  things 
which  we  have  just  enumerated. 

Theaet.  To  speak  frankly,  when  I  hear  your  argument  in 
detail,  I  think  it  very  reasonable  and  must  accept  it. 

Soc.  Let  us,  then,  see  the  theory  completed.  It  remains  to 
speak  of  dreams  and  diseases,  especially  madness  with  its 
illusions  of  sight  and  hearing  and  other  senses.  In  all  these 
cases,  as  you  must  admit,  the  position  which  we  have  just  taken 
seems  to  be  refuted,  since  manifestly  there  arise  in  ourselves 
perceptions  which  are  false.  Consequently  what  appears  to 
each  person  is  far  from  being  real ;  on  the  exact  contrary  not  a 
single  appearance  is  real. 

Theaet.  You  speak  truly,  Socrates. 

Soc.  What  argument  (Xo'yo?),  my  boy,  is  left  to  him  who 
holds  that  sensible  perception  is  knowledge,  and  that  each  one's 
appearances  (t^  ^aivoneva)  are  for  him  real? 


PLATO'S  THEAETETUS  19 

Theaet.  I  hesitate  to  tell  you,  Socrates,  that  I  do  not  know 
what  to  say,  because  you  reproved  me  a  moment  ago  for  giving 
this  answer.  Yet  I  cannot,  indeed,  argue  that  madmen  and 
dreamers  think  truly,  some  in  supposing  that  they  are  gods, 
and  others  in  dreaming  that  they  have  wings  and  are  flying.   . 

Soc.  Do  you  not  perceive  that  in  these  cases,  especially  in 
dreams  and  madness,  a  rejoinder  may  be  made  of  this  nature? 

Theaet.  Of  what  nature? 

Soc.  You  have  doubtless  often  heard  it  asked:  What  proof 
would  you  give,  if  you  were  questioned  at  this  moment  whether 
we  are  sleeping  and  dreaming  all  this  discussion,  or  awake  and 
conversing  about  a  waking  thought? 

Theaet.  Truly,  Socrates,  it  would  be  hard  to  prove  it,  for 
sleep  and  waking  are  equally  real,  and  one  is  the  counterpart 
of  the  other.  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  our  supposing  that 
we  are  now  talking  together  in  our  sleep.  And  when  in  dreams 
we  seem  to  be  telling  our  dreams,  such  a  state  strangely  resem- 
bles our  waking  life. 

Soc.  It  is  not  hard,  you  see,  to  carry  on  the  dispute,  when  it 
may  be  doubted  even  whether  we  are  asleep  or  awake.  If  we 
divide  time  about  equally  between  sleep  and  waking,  in  each 
period  our  souls  are  maintaining  that  their  present  opinions 
{SoyjxaTa)  are  true.  Thus  for  one  half  of  our  days  we  say  that 
some  opinions  are  true,  and  for  the  other  half  that  different 
opinions  are  true.  Yet  we  hold  fast  by  both. 

Theaet.  Clearly. 

Soc.  Does  not  the  same  argument  apply  to  diseases  and  mad- 
ness, except  only  that  the  time  is  not  divided  equally? 

Theaet.  True. 

Soc.  And  is  the  truth  to  be  determined  by  length  or  shortness 
of  time? 

Theaet.  That  would  be  absurd. 

Soc.  Can  you  by  any  other  way  clearly  show  on  which  side 
the  truth  is? 

Theaet.  I  think  not. 

Soc.  You  shall  hear,  then,  what  is  said  about  this  by  those 
who  determine  that  what  seems  {ra  Sokovpto)  to  anyone  to  be 


20  PROTAGORAS 

true  is  true  for  him.  They  would  put  some  such  question  as  this 
to  you,  "O  Theaetetus,  can  two  things  entirely  different  have 
the  same  quality  (Su^a/At?)  ?  "  Their  question,  let  us  understand, 
is  of  things  not  partially  but  wholly  different. 

Theaet.  Things  utterly  different  cannot  possibly  have  a 
quality  or  anything  else  the  same. 

Soc.  Must  we  confess  that  these  things  are  therefore  un- 
like? 

Theaet.  I  should  say  so. 

Soc.  Suppose  that  a  thing  happened  to  become  like  or  unlike 
itself  or  another  thing,  shall  we  say  that  what  is  made  like  be- 
comes the  same,  and  what  unlike  different? 

Theaet.  We  must. 

Soc.  We  said  before,  did  we  not,  that  the  active  elements 
were  many  and  infinite,  and  likewise  the  passive  elements? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  if  a  thing  combines  with  different  things,  the  pro- 
ducts will  be  different? 

Theaet.  Surely. 

Soc.  Let  us  apply  this  to  you  or  me  or  anything,  Socrates 
sick  and  Socrates  well,  for  example.  Shall  we  say  that  these 
are  like  or  unlike? 

Theaet.  Am  I  to  take  Socrates  sick  as  one  separate  whole, 
and  Socrates  v^ell  as  another? 

Soc.  You  understand  exactly;  that  is  what  I  mean. 

Theaet.  They  are  unlike  doubtless. 

Soc.  And  different  because  unlike? 

Theaet.  Necessarily. 

Soc.  And  will  you  say  the  same  of  Socrates  asleep  or  in  the 
other  states  we  mentioned?   , 

Theaet.  I  would. 

Soc.  Then  would  I  not  be  affected  by  any  active  element  in 
nature  differently  in  sickness  and  in  health? 

Theaet.  How  could  it  be  otherwise? 

Soc.  Would  not  the  active  element  and  I,  the  patient,  pro- 
duce a  different  result  in  each  case? 

Theaet.  Certainly. 


PLATO'S  THEAETETUS  21 

Soc.  The  wine  I  drink  when  I  am  in  health  appears  to  me 
sweet  and  pleasant? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  It  follows  from  our  previous  admissions  that  the  active 
and  passive  elements,  when  they  unite,  produce  sweetness  and 
the  sensation  of  sweetness.  The  sensation  arising  from  the 
patient  renders  the  tongue  percipient,  and  sweetness  moving  in 
the  wine  and  arising  from  it  meets  the  healthy  tongue,  and 
causes  the  wine  both  to  be  and  to  appear  sweet. 

Theaet.  That  is  the  consequence  of  what  we  formerly  ad- 
mitted. 

Soc.  But  when-I  am  sick,  does  not  the  object  affect  a  person 
who,  because  unlike,  is  really  different? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  In  that  case  Socrates  and  the  drinking  of  the  wine  pro- 
duce a  different  result,  the  sensation  of  bitterness  in  the  tongue 
and  bitterness  moving  in  the  wine.  The  wine  becomes  not 
bitterness  but  bitter,  and  I  become  not  perception  but  per- 
ceiving. 

Theaet.  Certainly. 

Soc.  There  is  no  other  thing,  from  which  I  shall  ever  receive 
the  same  perception.  The  perception  of  different  things  is 
different,  and  makes  him,  who  perceives,  of  another  nature  and 
another  man.  Nor  does  the  object,  which  affects  me,  produce 
the  same  result  and  become  the  same  object,  when  it  comes  into 
contact  with  another  person.  When  objects  produce  different 
results  in  contact  with  different  subjects,  they  become  of  an- 
other nature. 

Theaet.  It  is  true. 

Soc.  The  object  and  I  will  not  become  what  we  are  inde- 
pendently of  each  other. 

Theaet.  By  no  means. 

Soc.  I  must  become  percipient  of  something  when  I  perceive, 
for  it  is  impossible  in  perceiving  to  perceive  nothing.  And  when 
the  object  becomes  sweet  or  bitter  or  something  else,  it  must  do 
so  for  some  one,  since  to  become  sweet  and  yet  sweet  for  no- 
body is  not  possible. 


22  SOCRATES 

Theaet.  Assuredly  not. 

Soc.  We  must  conclude  that  the  object  and  I  are  or  become 
only  one  for  the  other.  Necessity  couples  us  to  each  other,  but 
does  not  couple  our  joint  existence  to  any  other  thing  or  even 
to  ourselves.  Each  is  bound  simply  to  the  other.  Accordingly 
when  a  thing  is  said  to  be  or  become,  it  must  be  spoken  of  as  for 
or  of  or  in  regard  to  something.  The  argtunent,  which  we  have 
traversed,  points  out  that  no  one  must  say,  or  permit  anyone 
else  to  say,  that* anything  is  or  becomes  wholly  of  itself  {avTo 
e<p  avTOv). 

Theaet.  No,  by  no  means,  Socrates. 

Soc.  When  anything,  which  affects  me,  exists  for  me  and  no 
other  person,  is  it  not  perceived  by  me  and  no  other? 

Theaet.  That  is  evident. 

Soc.  Then  my  sensation  is  true  for  me  since  it  is  inseparable 
from  my  existence.  As  Protagoras  says,  I  am  judge  both  of  the 
existence  of  what  is  for  me  and  the  non-existence  of  what  is  not. 

Theaet.  That  seems  to  be  the  case. 

Soc.  If  I  am  infallible  and  sure-footed  in  my  judgments  con- 
cerning being  (to,  ovto)  and  becoming  (ra  yiyvofjieva) ,  how  can 
I  fail  to  know  that  of  which  I  am  the  percipient  {alo-dr]T'q<i)  ? 

Theaet.  Not  in  any  way. 

Soc.  Right  noble,  then,  was  your  decision  that  knowledge 
was  nothing  else  than  perception.  Homer  and  Heraclitus  with 
their  crew,  who  say  that  all  things  flow  and  are  in  a  state  of 
motion,  and  the  all-wise  Protagoras  with  his  view  that  man  is 
the  measure  of  all  things,  and  Theaetetus,  who  concludes  from 
these  theories  that  knowledge  is  sensation,  are  all  of  one  accord. 
Is  that  not  true,  O  Theaetetus?  Shall  we  call  this  result  the 
young  child  at  whose  birth  I  have  assisted?  Or  what  do  you 
say? 

Theaet.  It  must  be  so,  Socrates. 

Sleph.  184b. 

Soc.  Once  again,  Theaetetus,  address  yourself  to  our  former 
inquiry.  You  answered  that  knowledge  was  sensible  percep- 
tion, did  you  not? 


PLATO'S  THEAETETUS  23 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  If  some  one  were  to  put  this  question  to  you,  With  what 
does  a  man  see  white  and  black  colours  and  with  what  does  he 
hear  high  and  low  tones?  you  would  say,  I  think,  with  his  eyes 
and  ears. 

Theaet.  I  should. 

Soc,  To  handle  names  and  terms  freely  and  without  critical 
minuteness  is  often  a  mark  of  wide  culture,  and  though  the 
opposite  is  as  a  rule  churlish,  it  is  sometimes,  as  in  the  present 
instance,  a  necessity.  For  I  must  indicate  a  want  of  exactness 
in  this  very  answer.  Reflect,  is  it  more  correct  to  say  that  it 
is  with  the  eyes  {6(f)6a\fioL<;)  that  we  see  or  through  them  (St' 
otfidaXfitov),  and  that  it  is  with  the  ears  or  through  them  that 
we  hear? 

Theaet.  I  think  'through'  is  better,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Surely,  for  it  would  be  a  singular  thing,  my  lad,  if  each 
of  us  was,  as  it  were,  a  wooden  horse,  and  within  us  were  seated 
many  separate  senses,  since  manifestly  these  senses  unite  into 
one  nature  (IBea),  call  it  the  soul  or  what  you  will;  and  it  is 
with  this  central  form  through  the  organs  of  sense  that  we  per- 
ceive sensible  objects. 

Theaet.  I  agree  with  your  view ;  the  contrary  would  indeed  be 
singular. 

Soc.  I  am  precise  with  you,  in  order  to  find  out  if  it  is  with 
one  and  the  same  part  of  ourselves  that  we  have  various  im- 
pressions, although  at  the  same  time  through  different  facul- 
ties. Would  you,  if  you  were  asked,  refer  all  our  impressions  to 
the  body?  But  perhaps  you  would  answer  better  without  my 
interference.  Tell  me,  then,  do  you  assign  the  faculties,  through 
which  you  perceive  hot  and  hard  and  light  and  sweet,  to  the 
body  or  to  something  else? 

Theaet.  To  the  body. 

Soc.  And  would  you  be  willing  to  allow  that  what  you  per- 
ceive through  one  faculty  (Svvafw;)  you  cannot  perceive 
through  another?  You  cannot,  that  is,  hear  through  the  eye 
or  see  through  the  ear? 

Theaet.  I  grant  that  readily. 


24  SOCRATES 

Soc.  If  you  make  a  judgment  common  to  the  two  organs 
(opyava),  you  cannot  perceive  it  through  either  of  them. 

Theaet.  Certainly  not. 

Soc.  In  the  case  of  sound  and  colour  you  may  surely  decide 
that  they  both  are. 

Theaet.  Surely. 

Soc.  Is  not  each  different  {hepov)  from  the  other  and  the 
same  {ravTov)  with  itself? 

Theaet.  No  doubt. 

Soc.  They  are  two  and  each  is  one? 

Theaet.  I  grant  that  also. 

Soc.  You  would  be  able  to  observe  whether  they  are  like  or 
unlike  each  other? 

Theaet.  Probably. 

Soc.  Through  what  do  you  make  these  several  judgments? 
For  it  is  not  possible  either  through  hearing  or  sight  to  get  any- 
thing common  to  the  two  {to  kolvov)  .  Let  us  take  an  illustra- 
tion. Suppose  it  to  be  a  sensible  question  to  ask  whether  you 
judge  colours  and  sounds  to  be  saline  or  not,  you  would  be  able 
to  say  what  faculty  you  would  use  in  order  to  decide,  and  this 
faculty  would  be  not  sight  or  hearing  but  some  other. 

Theaet.  Another  of  course,  the  faculty  of  taste. 

Soc.  That  is  well  said.  And  what  faculty  will  reveal  to  you 
the  common  elements  not  only  of  sensible  qualities,  but  of  all 
things,  those  elements,  I  mean,  which  you  call  being  (to  ea-riv) 
and  not  being  (to  ovk  ea-TLv)  and  the  others,  about  which  we 
were  speaking  a  moment  ago?  To  what  organ  will  you  attribute 
our  perception  of  each  of  these? 

Theaet.  You  allude  to  being  (ova-ia)  and  not  being  (to  ^t^ 
ehaL),  likeness  {6fioi6TT]<i)  and  unlikeness,  the  same  (to  raiirov) 
and  the  other  (to  erepnv),  and  unity  (eV)  also,  and  other 
numbers  applicable  to  things,  and  you  evidently  wish  to  know 
through  what  bodilyinstrument  the  soul  perceivesodd  {irepLTTov) 
and  even  {apriov)  and  all  that  is  akin  to  them. 

Soc.  You  follow  me  surpassingly  well,  Theaetetus;  that  is 
just  what  I  want. 

Theaet.  Verily,  Socrates,  I  cannot  tell  what  to  say,  if  not  that 


PLATO'S  THEAETETUS  25 

these  things  unlike  sensible  objects  seem  to  need  no  special 
organ,  but  that  the  soul  contemplates  the  common  elements 
(to.  KOLvd)  of  all  things  through  itself  (St'  avrri<i) . 

Soc.  You  are  beautiful,  Theaetetus,  and  not  ill-favoured,  as 
Theodorus  said,  for  he  who  says  beautiful  things,  is  beautiful  and 
good.  And  not  only  are  you  beautiful  but  you  have  done  well  in 
delivering  me  from  a  long  harangue,  if  you  are  satisfied  that 
some  things  the  soul  contemplates  through  itself  and  others 
through  the  bodily  faculties.  For  that  was  my  opinion  too,  and 
I  was  anxious  for  you  to  agree  with  me. 

Theaet.  I  am  convinced  of  the  truth  of  that. 

Soc.  On  which  side  would  you  place  being,  which  is  in  a 
unique  way  associated  with  all  things? 

Theaet.  I  would  place  it  amongst  those  things,  which  the  soul 
strives  to  grasp  of  itself  {kuO'  uvtijv)  . 

Soc.  And  would  you  place  there  the  like  and  unlike,  the 
same  and  the  other? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  what  of  the  noble  and  base,  good  and  evil? 

Theaet.  In  this  case  quite  specially  the  soul  views  the  essence 
(oucrca)  of  each  in  relation  to  its  opposite,  contrasting  within 
itself  the  past  and  present  with  the  future. 

Soc.  Stay  a  moment.  Does  the  soul  not  perceive  the  hard- 
ness of  a  hard  object  through  the  touch,  and  in  the  same  way 
the  softness  of  a  soft  object? 

Theaet.  Yes. 

Soc.  But  the  essence  and  existence  of  these,  and  the  opposi- 
tion of  each  to  the  other,  and  the  essence  of  this  opposition,  the 
soul  itself  judges,  bringing  them  all  together  and  passing  them 
in  review. 

Theaet.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Men  and  animals  from  their  very  birth  perceive  by 
nature  those  feelings  {iraOrj^iaTa)  which  reach  the  soul  through 
the  body;  but  reflections  (avaXoyiafiaTo)  on  the  essence  of  these 
and  on  their  use  come  to  those  who  have  them  only  after  effort 
and  with  the  lapse  of  years  through  education  and  a  wide  ex- 
perience. 


26  SOCRATES 

Theaet.  That  is  very  true. 

Soc.  Is  it  possible  to  gain  truth,  if  we  have  no  hold  of  being? 

Theaet.  Impossible. 

Soc.  If  we  fall  short  of  the  truth  of  anything,  can  we  be  said 
to  know  it? 

Theaet.  By  no  means,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Then  in  feelings  there  is  no  knowledge  but  only  in  rea- 
sonings {a-vWoyLo-fjLoi)  upon  them,  for  in  reasonings  it  is  pos- 
sible to  touch  being  and  truth,  but  in  feelings  it  is  impossible. 

Theaet.  That  is  evident. 

Soc.  Do  you  call  reasonings  and  feelings,  the  same,  when 
they  differ  so  widely? 

Theaet.  That  would  hardly  be  just. 

Soc.  What  name  do  you  give  to  seeing,  hearing,  smelling, 
being  cold  and  being  warm? 

Theaet.  Perceiving,  I  would  call  them.  I  have  no  other 
name. 

Soc.  Perception  then,  you  say,  covers  them  all? 

Theaet.  It  must. 

Soc.  And  this  has  no  share  in  truth,  because  it  lays  not  hold 
on  being. 

Theaet.  None. 

Soc.  Then  it  has  no  share  in  knowledge. 

Theaet.  No. 

Soc.  Then,  Theaetetus,  sensible  perception  and  knowledge 
will  never  be  the  same. 

Theaet.  Clearly  not,  Socrates;  indeed  it  is  now  quite  evident 
that  knowledge  and  sensation  are  different.         ^ 


PLATO 

(427-347) 

THE  REPUBLIC 

Translated  from  the  Greek  ^  by 

JOHN   LLEWELYN   DAVIES   AND 
DAVID  JAMES   VAUGHAN 

BOOK  IV.    THE  THREE   FACULTIES   OF 

THE  SOUL 
SOCRATES  GLAUCON 

Steph.  435. 

I  PROCEEDED  to  ask:  When  two  things,  a  greater  and  a  less, 
are  called  by  a  common  name,  are  they,  in  so  far  as  the  common 
name  applies,  unlike  or  like? 

Like. 

Then  a  just  man  will  not  differ  from  a  just  state,  so  far  as 
the  idea  of  justice  is  involved,  but  the  two  will  be  like. 

They  will. 

Well,  but  we  resolved  that  a  state  was  just,  when  the  three 
classes  of  characters  present  in  it  were  severally  occupied  in 
doing  their  proper  work:  and  that  it  was  temperate,  and  brave, 
and  wise,  in  consequence  of  certain  affections  and  conditions  of 
these  same  classes. 

True. 

Then,  my  friend,  we  shall  also  adjudge,  in  the  case  of  the 
individual  man,  that,  supposing  him  to  possess  in  his  soul  the 
same  generic  parts,  he  is  rightly  entitled  to  the  same  names  as 
the  state,  in  virtue  of  affections  of  these  parts  identical  with 
those  of  the  classes  in  the  state. 

It  must  inevitably  be  so. 

*  From  Itxdruvos  IloXiTeta.  Reprinted  from  The  Republic  of  Plato,  translated 
by  J.  L.  Davies  and  D.  J.  Vaughan,  Cambridge,  1852,  etc. 


28  PLATO 

Once  more  then',  my  excellent  friend,  we  have  stumbled  on 
an  easy  question  concerning  the  nature  of  the  soul,  namely, 
whether  it  contains  these  three  generic  parts  or  not. 

Not  so  very  easy  a  question,  I  think :  but  perhaps,  Socrates, 
the  common  saying  is  true,  that  the  beautiful  is  difficult. 

It  would  appear  so;  and  I  tell  you  plainly,  Glaucon,  that  in 
my  opinion  we  shall  never  attain  to  exact  truth  on  this  subject, 
by  such  methods  as  we  are  employing  in  our  present  discussion. 
However,  the  path  that  leads  to  that  goal  is  too  long  and  toil- 
some; and  I  dare  say  we  may  arrive  at  the  truth  by  our  present 
methods,  in  a  manner  not  unworthy  of  our  former  arguments 
and  speculations. 

Shall  we  not  be  content  with  that?  For  my  part  it  would 
satisfy  me  for  the  present. 

Well,  certainly  it  will  be  quite  enough  for  me. 

Do  not  flag  then,  but  proceed  with  the  inquiry. 

Tell  me  then,  I  continued,  can  we  possibly  refuse  to  admit 
that  there  exist  in  each  of  us  the  same  generic  parts  and  char- 
acteristics as  are  found  in  the  state?  For  I  presume  the  state 
has  not  received  them  from  any  other  source.  It  would  be 
ridiculous  to  imagine  that  the  presence  of  the  spirited  element 
in  cities  is  not  to  be  traced  to  individuals,  wherever  this  char- 
acter is  imputed  to  the  people,  as  it  is  to  the  natives  of  Thrace, 
and  Scy thia,  and  generally  speaking,  of  the  northern  countries ; 
or  the  love  of  knowledge,  which  would  be  chiefly  attributed  to 
our  own  country;  or  the  love  of  riches,  which  people  would  es- 
pecially connect  with  the  Phoenicians  and  the  Egyptians. 

Certainly. 

This  then  is  a  fact  so  far,  and  one  which  it  is  not  difficult  to 
apprehend. 

No,  it  is  not. 

But  here  begins  a  difficulty.  Are  all  our  actions  alike  per- 
formed by  the  one  predominant  faculty,  or  are  there  three  fac- 
ulties operating  severally  in  our  different  actions?  Do  we  learn 
with  one  internal  faculty,  and  become  angry  with  another,  and 
with  a  third  feel  desire  for  all  the  pleasures  connected  with  eat- 
ing and  drinking,  and  the  propagation  of  the  species;  or  upon 


THE  REPUBLIC  29 

every  impulse  to  action,  do  we  perform  these  several  operations 
with  the  whole  soul?  The  difficulty  will  consist  in  settling  these 
points  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 

I  think  so  too. 

Let  us  try  therefore  the  following  plan,  in  order  to  ascertain 
whether  the  faculties  engaged  are  distinct  or  identical. 

What  is  your  plan? 

It  is  manifest  that  the  same  thing  cannot  do  two  opposite 
things,  or  be  in  two  opposite  states,  in  the  same  part  of  it,  and 
with  reference  to  the  same  object;  so  that  where  we  find  these 
phenomena  occurring,  we  shall  know  that  the  subjects  of  them 
are  not  identical,  but  more  than  one. 

Very  well. 

Now  consider  what  I  say. 

Speak  on. 

Is  it  possible  for  the  same  thing  to  be  at  the  same  time,  and 
in  the  same  part  of  it,  at  rest  and  in  motion? 

Certainly  not. 

Let  us  come  to  a  still  more  exact  understanding,  lest  we  should 
chance  to  differ  as  we  proceed.  If  it  were  said  of  a  man  who  is 
standing  still,  but  moving  his  hands  and  his  head,  that  the  same 
individual  is  at  the  same  time  at  rest  and  in  motion,  we  should 
not,  I  imagine,  allow  this  to  be  a  correct  way  of  speaking,  but 
should  say,  that  part  of  the  man  is  at  rest,  and  part  in  motion : 
should  we  not? 

We  should. 

And  if  the  objector  should  indulge  in  yet  further  pleasan- 
tries, so  far  refining  as  to  say,  that  at  any  rate  a  top  is  wholly 
at  rest  and  in  motion  at  the  same  time,  when  it  spins  with  its 
peg  fixed  on  a  given  spot,  or  that  anything  else  revolving  in  the 
same  place,  is  an  instance  of  the  same  thing,  we  should  reject 
his  illustration,  because  in  such  cases  the  things  are  not  both 
stationary  and  in  motion  in  respect  of  the  same  parts  of  them ; 
and  we  should  reply,  that  they  contain  an  axis  and  a  circum- 
ference, and  that  in  respect  of  the  axis  they  are  stationary,  inas- 
much as  they  do  not  lean  to  any  side;  but  in  respect  of  the  cir- 
cumference they  are  moving  round  and  round:  but  if,  while  the 


30  PLATO 

rotatory  motion  continues,  the  axis  at  the  same  time  inclines  to 
the  right  or  to  the  left,  forwards  or  backwards,  then  they  can- 
not be  said  in  any  sense  to  be  at  rest. 

That  is  true. 

Then  no  objection  of  that  kind  will  alarm  us,  or  tend  at  all  to 
convince  us  that  it  is  ever  possible  for  one  and  the  same  thing, 
at  the  same  time,  in  the  same  part  of  it,  and  relatively  to  the 
same  object,  to  be  acted  upon  in  two  opposite  ways,  or  to  be 
two  opposite  things,  or  to  produce  two  opposite  eiffects. 

I  can  answer  for  myself. 

However,  that  we  may  not  be  compelled  to  spend  time  in  dis- 
cussing all  such  objections,  and  convincing  ourselves  that  they 
are  unsound,  let  us  assume  this  to  be  the  fact,  and  proceed 
forwards,  with  the  understanding  that,  if  ever  we  take  a  differ- 
ent view  of  this  matter,  all  the  conclusions  founded  on  this  as- 
sumption will  fall  to  the  ground. 

Yes,  that  will  be  the  best  way. 

Well  then,  I  continued,  would  you  place  assent  and  dissent, 
the  seeking  after  an  object  and  the  refusal  of  it,  attraction 
and  repulsion,  and  the  like,  in  the  class  of  mutual  opposites? 
Whether  they  be  active  or  passive  processes  will  not  affect  the 
question. 

Yes,  I  should. 

Well,  would  you  not,  without  exception,  include  hunger  and 
thirst,  and  the  desires  generally,  and  likewise  willing  and  wish- 
ing, somewhere  under  the  former  of  those  general  terms  just 
mentioned?  For  instance,  would  you  not  say  that  the  mind  of  a 
man  under  the  influence  of  desire  always  either  seeks  after  the 
object  of  desire,  or  attracts  to  itself  that  which  it  wishes  to  have ; 
or  again,  so  far  as  it  wills  the  possession  of  anything,  it  assents 
inwardly  thereto,  as  though  it  were  asked  a  question,  longing  for 
the  accomplishment  of  its  wish? 

I  should. 

Again:  shall  we  not  class  disinclination,  unwillingness,  and 
dislike,  under  the  head  of  mental  rejection  and  repulsion,  and  of 
general  terms  wholly  opposed  to  the  former? 

Unquestionably. 


THE  REPUBLIC  ;  31 

This  being  the  case,  shall  we  say  that  desires  form  a  class, 
the  most  marked  of  which  are  what  we  call  thirst  and  hunger? 

We  shall. 

The  one  being  a  desire  of  drink,  and  the  other  of  food? 

Yes. 

Can  thirst  then,  so  far  as  it  is  thirst,  be  an  internal  desire 
of  anything  more  than  drink?  That  is  to  say,  is  thirst,  as  such, 
a  thirst  for  hot  drink  or  cold,  for  much  or  little,  or,  in  one  word, 
for  any  particular  kind  of  drink?  Or,  will  it  not  rather  be  true 
that,  if  there  be  heat  combined  with  the  thirst,  the  desire  of 
cold  drink  will  be  superadded  to  it,  and  if  there  be  cold,  of  hot 
drink;  and  if  owing  to  the  presence  of  muchness,  the  thirst  be 
great,  the  desire  of  much  will  be  added,  and  if  little,  the  desire 
of  little:  but  that  thirst  in  itself  cannot  be  a  desire  of  anything 
else  than  its  natural  object,  which  is  simple  drink,  or  again, 
hunger,  of  anything  but  food? 

You  are  right,  he  replied;  every  desire  in  itself  has  to  do  with 
its  natural  object  in  its  simply  abstract  form,  but  the  accesso- 
ries of  the  desire  determine  the  quality  of  the  object. 

Let  not  any  one,  I  proceeded,  for  want  of  consideration  on 
our  part,  disturb  us  by  the  objection,  that  no  one  desires  drink 
simply,  but  good  drink,  nor  food  simply,  but  good  food;  be- 
cause, since  all  desire  good  things,  if  thirst  is  a  desire,  it  must 
be  a  desire  of  something  good,  whether  that  something,  which 
is  its  object,  be  drink  or  anything  else;  —  an  argument  which 
applies  to  all  the  desires. 

True,  there  might  seem  to  be  something  in  the  objection. 

Recollect,  however,  that  in  the  case  of  all  essentially  correla- 
tive terms,  when  the  first  member  of  the  relation  is  qualified, 
the  second  is  also  qualified,  if  I  am  not  mistaken;  —  when  the 
first  is  abstract,  the  second  is  also  abstract. 

I  do  not  understand  you. 

Do  you  not  understand  that  'greater'  is  a  relative  term,  im- 
plying another  term? 

Certainly. 

It  implies  a  'less,'  does  it  not? 

Yes. 


32  PLATO 

And  a  much  greater  implies  a  much  less,  does  it  not? 

Yes. 

Does  a  once  greater  also  imply  a  once  less,  and  a  future 
greater  a  future  less? 

Inevitably. 

Does  not  the  same  reasoning  apply  to  the  correlative  terms, 
'more'  and  'fewer,'  'double'  and  'half,'  and  all  relations  of 
quantity;  also  to  the  terms,  'heavier'  and  'lighter,'  'quicker' 
and  'slower;'  and  likewise  to  'cold'  and  'hot,'  and  all  similar 
epithets? 

Certainly  it  does. 

But  how  is  it  with  the  various  branches  of  scientific  know- 
ledge? Does  not  the  same  principle  hold?  That  is,  knowledge 
in  the  abstract  is  knowledge  simply  of  the  knowable,  or  of  what- 
ever that  be  called  which  is  the  object  of  knowledge;  but  a  par- 
ticular science,  of  a  particular  kind,  has  a  particular  object  of  a 
particular  kind.  To  explain  my  meaning:  —  as  soon  as  a  science 
of  the  construction  of  houses  arose,  was  it  not  distinguished 
from  other  sciences,  and  therefore  called  the  science  of  building? 

Undoubtedly. 

And  is  it  not  because  it  is  of  a  particular  character,  which  no 
other  science  possesses? 

Yes. 

And  is  not  its  particular  character  derived  from  the  particu- 
lar character  of  its  object?  and  may  we  not  say  the  same  of  all 
the  other  arts  and  sciences? 

We  may. 

This  then  you  are  to  regard  as  having  been  my  meaning 
before;  provided,  that  is,  you  now  understand  that  in  the  case 
of  all  correlative  terms,  if  the  first  member  of  the  relation  is 
abstract,  the  second  is  also  abstract;  if  the  second  is  qualified, 
the  first  is  also  qualified.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  qualities 
of  the  two  are  identical,  as  for  instance,  that  the  science  of 
health  is  healthy,  and  the  science  of  disease  diseased;  or  that 
the  science  of  evil  things  is  evil,  and  of  good  things  good :  but  as 
soon  as  science,  instead  of  limiting  itself  to  the  abstract  object 
of  science,  became  related  to  a  particular  kind  of  object,  namely, 


THE  REPUBLIC  33 

in  the  present  case,  the  conditions  of  health  and  disease,  the  re- 
sult was  that  the  science  also  came  to  be  qualified  in  a  certain 
manner,  so  that  it  was  no  longer  called  simply  science,  but,  by 
the  addition  of  a  qualifying  epithet,  medical  science. 

I  understand,  and  I  think  what  you  say  is  true. 

To  recur  to  the  case  of  thirst,  I  continued,  do  you  not  con- 
sider this  to  be  one  of  the  things  whose  nature  it  is  to  have  an 
object  correlative  with  themselves,  assuming  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  thirst? 

I  do,  and  its  object  is  drink. 

Then,  for  any  particular  kind  of  drink  there  is  a  particular 
kind  of  thirst;  but  thirst  in  the  abstract  is  neither  for  much 
drink,  nor  for  little,  neither  for  good  drink  nor  for  bad,  nor,  in 
one  word,  for  any  kind  of  drink,  but  simply  and  absolutely 
thirst  for  drink,  is  it  not? 

Most  decidedly  so. 

Then  the  soul  of  a  thirsty  man,  in  so  far  as  he  is  thirsty,  has 
no  other  wish  than  to  drink;  but  this  it  desires,  and  towards  this 
it  is  impelled. 

Clearly  so. 

Therefore,  whenever  anything  pulls  back  a  soul  that  is  under 
the  influence  of  thirst,  it  will  be  something  in  the  soul  distinct 
from  the  principle  which  thirsts,  and  which  drives  it  like  a  beast 
to  drink:  for  we  hold  it  to  be  impossible  that  the  same  thing 
should,  at  the  same  time,  with  the  same  part  of  itself,  in  refer- 
ence to  the  same  object,  be  doing  two  opposite  things.       , 

Certainly  it  is. 

Just  as,  I  imagine,  it  would  not  be  right  to  say  of  the  bowman, 
that  his  hands  are  at  the  same  time  drawing  the  bow  towards 
him,  and  pushing  it  from  him;  the  fact  being,  that  one  of  his 
hands  pushes  it  from  him,  and  the  other  pulls  it  to  him. 

Precisely  so. 

Now,  can  we  say  that  people  sometimes  are  thirsty,  and  yet 
do  not  wish  to  drink? 

Yes,  certainly;  it  often  happens  to  many  people. 

What  then  can  one  say  of  them,  except  that  their  soul  con- 
tains one  principle  which  commands,  and  another  which  for- 


34  PLATO 

bids  them  to  drink,  the  latter  being  distinct  from  and  stronger 
than  the  former? 

That  is  my  opinion. 

Whenever  the  authority  which  forbids  such  indulgences 
grows  up  in  the  soul,  is  it  not  engendered  there  by  reasoning; 
while  the  powers  which  lead  and  draw  the  mind  towards  them, 
owe  their  presence  to  passive  and  morbid  states? 

It  would  appear  so. 

Then  we  shall  have  reasonable  grounds  for  assuming  that 
these  are  two  principles  distinct  one  from  the  other,  and  for 
giving  to  that  part  of  the  soul  with  which  it  reasons  the  title  of 
the  rational  principle,  and  to  that  part  with  which  it  loves  and 
hungers  and  thirsts,  and  experiences  the  flutter  of  the  other  de- 
sires, the  title  of  the  irrational  and  concupiscent  principle,  the 
ally  of  sundry  indulgences  and  pleasures. 

Yes,  he  replied :  it  will  not  be  unreasonable  to  think  so. 

Let  us  consider  it  settled,  then,  that  these  two  specific  parts 
exist  in  the  soul.  But  now,  will  spirit,  or  that  by  which  we  feel 
indignant,  constitute  a  third  distinct  part?  If  not,  with  which 
of  the  two  former  has  it  a  natural  affinity? 

Perhaps  with  the  concupiscent  principle. 

But  I  was  once  told  a  story,  which  I  can  quite  believe,  to  the 
effect,  that  Leontius,  the  son  of  Aglaion,  as  he  was  walking  up 
from  the  Piraeus,  and  approaching  the  northern  wall  from  the 
outside,  observed  some  dead  bodies  on  the  ground,  and  the 
executioner  standing  by  them.  He  immediately  felt  a  desire  to 
look  at  them,  but  at  the  same  time  loathing  the  thought  he 
tried  to  divert  himself  from  it.  For  some  time  he  struggled 
with  himself,  and  covered  his  eyes,  till  at  length,  over-mastered 
by  the  desire,  he  opened  his  eyes  wide  with  his  fingers,  and  run- 
ning up  to  the  bodies,  exclaimed,  'There!  you  wretches!  gaze 
your  fill  at  the  beautiful  spectacle ! ' 

I  have  heard  the  anecdote  too. 

This  story,  however,  indicates  that  anger  sometimes  fights 
against  the  desires,  which  implies  that  they  are  two  distinct 
principles. 

True,  it  does  indicate  that. 


THE  REPUBLIC  35 

And  do  we  not  often  observe  in  other  cases  that  when  a  man 
is  overpowered  by  his  desires  against  the  dictates  of  his  reason, 
he  reviles  himself,  and  resents  the  violence  thus  exerted  within 
him,  and  that,  in  this  struggle  of  contending  parties,  the  spirit 
sides  with  the  reason?  But  that  it  should  make  common  cause 
with  the  desires,  when  the  reason  pronounces  that  they  ought 
not  to  act  against  itself,  is  a  thing  which  I  suppose  you  will  not 
profess  to  have  experienced  yourself,  nor  yet,  I  imagine,  have 
you  ever  noticed  it  in  any  one  else. 

No,  I  am  sure  I  have  not. 

Well,  and  when  any  one  thinks  he  is  in  the  wrong,  is  he  not, 
in  proportion  to  the  nobleness  of  his  character,  so  much  the  less 
able  to  be  angry  at  being  made  to  suffer  hunger  or  cold  or  any 
similar  pain  at  the  hands  of  him  whom  he  thinks  justified  in  so 
treating  him ;  his  spirit,  as  I  describe  it,  refusing  to  be  roused 
against  his  punisher? 

True. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  any  one  thinks  he  is  wronged,  does 
he  not  instantly  boil  and  chafe,  and  enlist  himself  on  the  side  of 
what  he  thinks  to  be  justice;  and  whatever  extremities  of  hun- 
ger and  cold  and  the  like  he  may  have  to  suffer,  does  he  not 
endure  till  he  conquers,  never  ceasing  from  his  noble  efforts, 
till  he  has  either  gained  his  point,  or  perished  in  the  attempt, 
or  been  recalled  and  calmed  by  the  voice  of  reason  within,  as  a 
dog  is  called  off  by  a  shepherd? 

Yes,  he  replied,  the  case  answers  very  closely  to  your  de- 
scription; and  in  fact,  in  our  city  we  made  the  auxiliaries,  like 
sheep-dogs,  subject  to  the  rulers,  who  are  as  it  were  the  shep- 
herds of  the  state. 

You  rightly  understand  my  meaning.  But  try  whether  you 
also  apprehend  my  next  observation. 

What  is  it? 

That  our  recent  view  of  the  spirited  principle  is  exactly 
reversed.  Then  we  thought  it  had  something  of  the  concupis- 
cent character,  but  now  we  say  that,  far  from  this  being  the 
case,  it  much  more  readily  takes  arms  on  the  side  of  the  rational 
principle  in  the  party  conflict  of  the  soul. 


36  PLATO 

Decidedly  it  does. 

Is  it  then  distinct  from  this  principle  also;  or  is  it  only  a  mod- 
ification of  it,  thus  making  two  instead  of  three  distinct  princi- 
ples in  the  soul,  namely,  the  rational  and  the  concupiscent? 
Or  ought  we  to  say  that,  as  the  state  was  held  together  by  three 
great  classes,  the  producing  class,  the  auxiliary,  and  the  delib- 
erative, so  also  in  the  soul  the  spirited  principle  constitutes  a 
third  element,  the  natural  ally  of  the  rational  principle,  if  it  be 
not  corrupted  by  evil  training? 

It  must  be  a  third,  he  replied. 

Yes,  I  continued;  if  it  shall  appear  to  be  distinct  from  the  ra- 
tional principle,  as  we  found  it  different  from  the  concupiscent. 

Nay,  that  will  easily  appear.  For  even  in  little  children  any 
one  may  see  this,  that  from  their  very  birth  they  have  plenty 
of  spirit,  whereas  reason  is  a  principle  to  which  most  men  only 
attain  after  many  years,  and  some,  in  my  opinion,  never. 

Upon  my  word  you  have  well  said.   In  brute  beasts  also  one 
may  see  what  you  describe  exemplified.  And  besides,  that  pas- 
sage in  Homer,  which  we  quoted  on  a  former  occasion,  will  sup- 
port our  view: 
'Smiting  his  breast,  to  his  heart  thus  spake  he  in  accents  of  chiding.' 

For  in  this  line  Homer  has  distinctly  made  a  difference  between 
the  two  principles,  representing  that  which  had  considered  the 
good  or  the  evil  of  the  action  as  rebuking  that  which  was  in- 
dulging in  unreflecting  resentment. 

You  are  perfectly  right. 

Here  then,  I  proceeded,  after  a  hard  struggle,  we  have,  though 
with  difficulty,  reached  the  land;  and  we  are  pretty  well  satis- 
fied that  there  are  corresponding  divisions,  equal  in  number, 
in  a  state,  and  in  the  soul  of  every  individual. 

BOOK  VI.  THE  CORRELATION  OF  THE  FACULTIES 

Sleph.  so8  D. 

Just  in  the  same  way  understand  the  condition  of  the  soul 
to  be  as  follows.  Whenever  it  has  fastened  upon  an  object,  over 
which  truth  and  real  existence  are  shining,  it  seizes  that  object 


THE  REPUBLIC  37 

by  an  act  of  reason,  and  knows  it,  and  thus  proves  itself  to  be 
possessed  of  reason:  but  whenever  it  has  fixed  upon  objects 
that  are  blent  with  darkness,  —  the  world  of  birth  and  death,  — 
then  it  rests  in  opinion,  and  its  sight  grows  dim,  as  its  opinions 
shift  backwards  and  forwards,  and  it  has  the  appearance  of 
being  destitute  of  reason. 

True  it  has. 

Now,  this  power,  which  supplies  the  objects  of  real  know- 
ledge with  the  truth  that  is  in  them,  and  which  renders  to  him 
who  knows  the  faculty  of  knowing  them,  you  must  consider  to 
be  the  essential  form  of  good,  and  you  must  regard  it  as  the 
origin  of  science,  and  of  truth,  so  far  as  the  latter  comes  within 
the  range  of  knowledge;  and  though  knowledge  and  truth  are 
both  very  beautiful  things,  you  will  be  right  in  looking  upon 
good  as  something  distinct  from  them,  and  even  more  beautiful. 
And  just  so,  in  the  analogous  case,  it  is  right  to  regard  light  and 
vision  so  resembling  the  sun,  but  wrong  to  identify  them  with 
the  sun;  so,  in  the  case  of  science  and  truth,  it  is  right  to  regard 
both  of  them  as  resembling  good,  but  wrong  to  identify  either 
of  them  with  good;  because,  on  the  contrary,  the  quaUty  of 
good  ought  to  have  a  still  higher  value  set  upon  it. 

That  implies  an  irrepressible  beauty,  if  it  not  only  is  the 
source  of  science  and  truth,  but  also  surpasses  them  in  beauty ; 
for,  I  presume,  you  do  not  mean  by  it  pleasure. 

Hush !  I  exclaimed,  not  a  word  of  that.  But  you  had  better 
examine  the  illustration  further,  as  follows. 

Shew  me  how. 

I  think  you  will  admit  that  the  sun  ministers  to  visible 
objects,  not  only  the  faculty  of  being  seen,  but  also  their  vital- 
ity, growth,  and  nutriment,  though  it  is  not  itself  equivalent 
to  vitality. 

Of  course  it  is  not. 

Then  admit  that,  in  like  manner,  the  objects  of  knowledge 
not  only  derive  from  the  good  the  gift  of  being  known,  but  are 
further  endowed  by  it  with  a  real  and  essential  existence;  though 
the  good,  far  from  being  identical  with  real  existence,  actually 
transcends  it  in  dignity  and  power. 


38  PLATO 

Hereupon  Glaucon  exclaimed  with  a  very  amusing  air,  Good 
heavens!  what  a  miraculous  superiority! 

Well,  I  said,  you  are  a  person  to  blame,  because  you  compel 
me  to  state  my  opinions  on  the  subject. 

Nay,  let  me  entreat  you  not  to  stop,  till  you  have  at  all  events 
gone  over  again  your  similitude  of  the  sun,  if  you  are  leaving 
anything  out. 

Well,  to  say  the  truth,  I  am  leaving  out  a  great  deal. 

Then  pray  do  not  omit  even  a  trifle. 

I  fancy  I  shall  leave  much  unsaid ;  however,  if  I  can  help  it 
•under  the  circumstances,  I  will  not  intentionally  make  any 
omission. 

Pray  do  not. 

Now  understand  that,  according  to  us,  there  are  two  powers 
reigning,  one  over  an  intellectual,  and  the  other  over  a  visible 
region  and  class  of  objects;  —  if  I  were  to  use  the  term  *  firma- 
ment,' you  might  think  I  was  playing  on  the  word.  Well  then, 
are  you  in  possession  of  these  as  two  kinds,  —  one  visible,  the 
other  intellectual? 

Yes,  I  am. 

Suppose  you  take  a  line  divided  into  two  unequal  parts,  — 
one  to  represent  the  visible  class  of  objects,  the  other  the  intel- 
lectual, —  and  divide  each  part  again  into  two  segments  on  the 
same  scale.  Then,  if  you  make  the  lengths  of  the  segments  re- 
present degrees  of  distinctness  or  indistinctness,  one  of  the  two 
segments  of  the  part  which  stands  for  the  visible  world  will 
represent  all  images:  —  meaning  by  images,  first  of  all,  shad- 
ows; and,  in  the  next  place,  reflections  in  water,  and  in  close- 
grained,  smooth,  bright  substances,  and  everything  of  the 
kind,  if  you  understand  me. 

Yes,  I  do  understand. 

Let  the  other  segment  stand  for  the  real  objects  correspond- 
ing to  these  images,  —  namely,  the  animals  about  us,  and  the 
whole  world  of  nature  and  of  art. 

Very  good. 

Would  you  also  consent  to  say  that,  with  reference  tp  this 
class,  there  is,  in  point  of  truth  and  untruthfulness,  the  same 


THE  REPUBLIC  39 

distinction  between  the  copy  and  the  original,  that  there  is  be- 
tween what  is  matter  of  opinion  and  what  is  matter  of  know- 
ledge? 

Certainly  I  should. 

Then  let  us  proceed  to  consider  how  we  must  divide  that  part 
of  the  whole  line  which  represents  the  intellectual  world. 

How  must  we  do  it? 

Thus:  one  segment  of  it  will  represent  what  the  soul  is  com- 
pelled to  investigate  by  the  aid  of  the  segments  of  the  other 
part,  which  it  employs  as  images,  starting  from  hypotheses, 
and  travelling  not  to  a  first  principle,  but  to  a  conclusion.  The 
other  segment  will  represent  the  objects  of  the  soul,  as  it  makes 
its  way  from  an  hypothesis  to  a  first  principle  which  is  not  hy- 
pothetical, unaided  by  those  images  which  the  former  division 
employs,  and  shaping  its  journey  by  the  sole  help  of  real  essen- 
tial forms. 

I  have  not  understood  your  description  so  well  as  I  could 
wish. 

Then  we  will  try  again.  You  will  understand  me  more  easily 
when  I  have  made  some  previous  observations.  I  think  you 
know  that  the  students  of  subjects  like  geometry  and  calcula- 
tion, assume  by  way  of  materials,  in  each  investigation,  all 
odd  and  even  numbers,  figures,  three  kinds  of  angles,  and 
other  similar  data.  These  things  they  are  supposed  to  know, 
and  having  adopted  them  as  hypotheses,  they  decline  to 
give  any  account  of  them,  either  to  themselves  or  to  others, 
on  the  assumption  that  they  are  self-evident;  and,  making 
these  their  starting  point,  they  proceed  to  travel  through  the 
remainder  of  the  subject,  and  arrive  at  last,  with  perfect 
unanimity,  at  that  which  they  have  proposed  as  the  object  of 
investigation. 

I  am  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  he  replied. 

Then  you  also  know  that  they  summon  to  their  aid  visible 
forms,  and  discourse  about  them,  though  their  thoughts  are 
busy  not  with  these  forms,  but  with  their  originals,  and  though 
they  discourse  not  with  a  view  to  the  particular  square  and 
diameter  which  they  draw,  but  with  a  view  to  the  absolute 


40  PLATO 

square  and  th?  absolute  diameter,  and  so  on.  For  while  they 
employ  by  way  of  images  those  figures  and  diagrams  afore- 
said, which  again  have  their  shadows  and  images  in  water,  they 
are  really  endeavoring  to  behold  those  abstractions  which  a  per- 
son can  only  see  with  the  eye  of  thought. 

True. 

This,  then,  was  the  class  of  things  which  I  called  intellectual; 
but  I  said  that  the  soul  is  constrained  to  employ  hypotheses 
while  engaged  in  the  investigation  of  them,  —  not  travelling 
to  a  first  principle,  (because  it  is  unable  to  step  out  of,  and 
mount  above,  its  hypotheses,)  but  using,  as  images,  just  the 
copies  that  are  presented  by  things  below,  —  which  copies,  as 
compared  with  the  originals,  are  vulgarly  esteemed  distinct  and 
valued  accordingly. 

I  understand  you  to  be  speaking  of  the  subject-matter  of  the 
various  branches  of  geometry  and  the  kindred  arts. 

Again,  by  the  second  segment  of  the  intellectual  world 
understand  me  to  mean  all  that  the  mere  reasoning  process 
apprehends  by  the  force  of  dialectic,  when  it  avails  itself  of 
hypotheses  not  as  first  principles,  but  as  genuine  hypotheses, 
that  is  to  say,  as  stepping-stones  and  impulses,  whereby  it  may 
force  its  way  up  to  something  that  is  not  hypothetical,  and  ar- 
rive at  the  first  principle  of  everything,  and  seize  it  in  its  grasp; 
which  done,  it  turns  round,  and  takes  hold  of  that  which  takes 
hold  of  this  first  principle,  till  at  last  it  comes  down  to  a  conclu- 
sion, calling  in  the  aid  of  no  sensible  object  whatever,  but  sim- 
ply employing  abstract,  self-subsisting  forms,  and  terminating 
in  the  same. 

I  do  not  understand  you  so  well  as  I  could  wish,  for  I  believe 
you  to  be  describing  an  arduous  task;  but  at  any  rate  I  under- 
stand that  you  wish  to  declare  distinctly,  that  the  field  of  real 
existence  and  pure  intellect,  as  contemplated  by  the  science  of  . 
dialectic,  is  more  certain  than  the  field  investigated  by  what 
are  called  the  arts,  in  which  hypotheses  constitute  first  princi- 
ples, which  the  students  are  compelled,  it  is  true,  to  contem- 
plate with  the  mind  and  not  with  the  senses;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  as  they  do  not  come  back,  in  the  course  of  inquiry,  to  a 


THE  REPUBLIC  41 

first  principle,  but  push  on  from  hypothetical  premises,  you 
think  that  they  do  not  exercise  pure  reason  on  the  questions 
that  engage  them,  although  taken  in  connexion  with  a  first 
principle  these  questions  come  within  the  domain  of  the  pure 
reason.  And  I  believe  you  apply  the  term  understanding,  not 
pure  reason,  to  the  mental  habit  of  such  people  as  geometri- 
cians, —  regarding  understanding  as  something  intermediate 
between  opinion  and  pure  reason. 

You  have  taken  in  my  meaning  most  satisfactorily;  and  I  beg 
you  will  accept  these  four  mental  states,  as  corresponding  to 
the  four  segments,  —  namely  pure  reason  corresponding  to  the 
highest,  understanding  to  the  second,  belief  to  the  third,  and 
conjecture  to  the  last;  and  pray  arrange  them  in  gradation, 
and  believe  them  to  partake  of  distinctness  in  a  degree  corre- 
sponding to  the  truth  of  their  respective  objects. 

I  understand  you,  said  he.  I  quite  agree  with  you,  and  w^ll 
arrange  them  as  you  desire. 

BOOK  X.    THE    SOUL'S    IMMORTALITY 

Steph.  609. 

Again:  do  you  maintain  that  everything  has  its  evil,  and  its 
good?  Do  you  say,  for  example,  that  the  eyes  are  liable  to  the 
evil  of  ophthalmia,  the  entire  body  to  disease,  corn  to  mildew, 
timber  to  rot,  copper  and  iron  to  rust,  or,  in  other  words,  that 
almost  everything  is  liable  to  some  connatural  evil  and  malady? 

I  do. 

And  is  it  not  the  case  that,  whenever  an  object  is  attacked 
by  one  of  these  maladies,  it  is  impaired,  and,  in  the  end,  com- 
pletely broken  up  and  destroyed  by  it? 

Doubtless  it  is  so. 

Hence  everything  is  destroyed  by  its  own  connatural  evil 
and  vice;  otherwise,  if  it  be  not  destroyed  by  this,  there  is  no- 
thing else  that  can  corrupt  it.  For  that  which  is  good  will  never 
destroy  anything,  nor  yet  that  which  is  neither  good  nor  evil. 

Of  course  not. 

If  then  we  can  find  among  existing  things  one  which  is  liable 


42  PLATO 

to  a  particular  evil,  which  can  indeed  mar  it,  but  cannot  break 
it  up  or  destroy  it,  shall  we  not  be  at  once  certain  that  a  thing 
so  constituted  can  never  perish? 

That  would  be  a  reasonable  conclusion. 

Well,  then,  is  not  the  soul  liable  to  a  malady  which  renders  it 
evil? 

Certainly  it  is;  all  those  things  which  we  were  lately  discuss- 
ing, —  injustice,  intemperance,  cowardice,  and  ignorance,  — 
produce  that  result. 

That  being  the  case,  does  any  one  of  these  things  bring  about 
the  dissolution  and  destruction  of  the  soul?  Turn  it  over  well 
in  your  mind,  that  we  may  not  be  misled  by  supposing  that, 
when  the  crimes  of  the  unjust  and  foolish  man  are  found  out, 
he  is  destroyed  by  his  injustice,  which  is  a  depraved  state  of  the 
soul.  No,  consider  the  case  thus.  The  depravity  of  the  body, 
that  is  to  say,  disease,  wastes  and  destroys  the  body,  and  re- 
duces it  to  a  state  in  which  it  ceases  to  be  a  body;  and  all  the 
things,  which  we  named  just  now,  are  brought  by  their  own 
proper  vice,  which  corrupts  them  by  its  adhesion  or  indwelling, 
to  a  state  in  which  they  cease  to  exist.  I  am  right,  am  1  not  ? 

Yes. 

Then  proceed  to  examine  the  soul  on  the  same  method.  Is 
it  true  that,  when  injustice  and  other  vices  reside  in  the  soul, 
they  corrupt  and  wither  it  by  contact  or  indwelling,  until  they 
have  brought  it  to  death,  and  severed  it  from  the  body? 

Certainly,  they  do  not  produce  that  effect. 

Well  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  irrational  to  suppose  that 
a  thing  can  be  destroyed  by  the  depravity  of  another  thing, 
though  it  cannot  be  destroyed  by  its  own. 

True,  it  is  irrational. 

Yes  it  is,  Glaucon;  for  you  must  remember  that  we  do  not 
imagine  that  a  body  is  to  be  destroyed  by  the  proper  depravity 
of  its  food,  whatever  that  may  be,  whether  mouldiness  or  rot- 
tenness or  anything  else.  But  if  the  depravity  of  the  food  itself 
produces  in  the  body  a  disorder  proper  to  the  body,  we  shall 
assert  that  the  body  has  been  destroyed  by  its  food  remotely, 
but  by  its  own  proper  vice,  or  disease,  immediately:  and  we 


THE  REPUBLIC  43 

shall  always  disclaim  the  notion  that  the  body  can  be  corrupted 
by  the  depravity  of  its  food,  which  is  a  different  thing  from  the 
body,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  notion  that  the  body  can  be  cor- 
rupted by  an  aHen  evil,  without  the  introduction  of  its  own 
native  evil. 

You  are  perfectly  correct. 

Then  according  to  the  same  reasoning,  I  continued,  unless 
depravity  of  body  introduces  into  the  soul  depravity  of  soul, 
let  us  never  suppose  that  the  soul  can  be  destroyed  by  an  alien 
evil  without  the  presence  of  its  own  peculiar  disease;  for  that 
would  be  to  suppose  that  one  thing  can  be  destroyed  by  the 
evil  of  another  thing. 

That  is  a  reasonable  statement. 

Well  then,  let  us  either  refute  this  doctrine  and  point  out 
our  mistake,  or  else,  so  long  as  it  remains  unrefuted,  let  us 
never  assert  that  a  fever,  or  any  other  disease,  or  fatal  vio- 
lence, or  even  the  act  of  cutting  up  the  entire  body  into  the 
smallest  possible  pieces,  can  have  any  tendency  to  destroy  the 
soul,  until  it  has  been  demonstrated,  that,  in  consequence  of 
this  treatment  of  the  body,  the  soul  itself  becomes  more  unjust 
and  more  unholy.  For,  so  long  as  a  thing  is  exempt  from  its  own 
proper  evil,  while  an  evil  foreign  to  it  appears  in  another  sub- 
ject, let  us  not  allow  it  to  be  said  that  this  thing,  whether  it  be 
a  soul  or  anything  else,  is  in  danger  of  being  destroyed. 

Well,  certainly  no  one  will  ever  prove  that  the  souls  of  the 
dying  become  more  unjust  in  consequence  of  death. 

But  in  case  any  one  should  venture  to  encounter  the  argu- 
ment, and  to  assert  that  the  dying  man  becomes  more  depraved 
and  unjust,  in  order  to  save  himself  from  being  compelled  to 
admit  that  the  soul  is  immortal,  I  suppose  we  shall  infer  that, 
if  the  objector  is  right,  injustice  is  as  fatal  as  a  disease  to  its 
possessor ;  and  we  shall  expect  those  who  catch  this  essentially 
deadly  disorder  to  die  by  its  agency,  quickly  or  slowly,  accord- 
ing to  the  violence  of  the  attack;  instead  of  finding,  as  we  do  at 
present,  that  the  unjust  are  put  to  death  in  consequence  of  their 
injustice,  by  the  agency  of  other  people  who  punish  them  for 
their  crimes. 


44  PLATO 

Then  really,  said  he,  injustice  cannot  be  thought  such  a  very 
dreadful  thing,  if  it  is  to  be  fatal  to  its  owner;  because  in  that 
case  it  will  be  a  release  from  evils.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that,  on  the  contrary,  we  shall  find  that  it  kills  other  people 
if  it  can,  while  it  endows  its  possessor  with  peculiar  vitality, 
and  with  sleeplessness  as  well  as  vitality.  So  widely  and  per- 
manently is  it  removed,  to  all  appearance,  from  any  tendency 
to  destroy  its  owner. 

You  say  well,  I  replied.  For  surely  when  the  soul  cannot  be 
killed  and  destroyed  by  its  own  depravity  and  its  own  evil, 
hardly  will  the  evil,  which  is  charged  with  the  destruction  of 
another  thing,  destroy  a  soul  or  anything  else,  beyond  its  own 
appropriate  object. 

Yes,  hardly;  at  least  that  is  the  natural  inference. 

Hence,  as  it  is  destroyed  by  no  evil  at  all,  whether  foreign 
to  it  or  its  own,  it  is  clear  that  the  soul  must  be  always  existing, 
and  therefore  immortal. 

It  must. 

Well  then,  I  continued,  let  us  consider  this  proved.  And,  if 
so,  you  understand  that  the  souls  that  exist  must  be  always  the 
saflie.  For,  if  none  be  destroyed,  they  cannot  become  fewer. 
Nor  yet  can  they  become  more  numerous;  because  if  any  class 
of  things  immortal  became  more  numerous,  you  know  that 
something  mortal  must  have  contributed  to  swell  its  numbers; 
in  which  case,  everything  would  finally  be  immortal. 

True. 

But  reason  will  forbid  our  entertaining  this  opinion,  which 
we  must  therefore  disavow.  On  the  other  hand,  do  not  let  us 
imagine  that  the  soul  in  its  essential  nature,  and  viewed  by 
itself,  can  possibly  be  fraught  with  abundance  of  variety,  un- 
likeness,  and  disagreement. 

What  do  you  mean? 

A  thing  cannot  easily  be  eternal,  as  we  have  just  proved  the 
soul  to  be,  if  it  is  compounded  of  many  parts,  and  if  the  mode 
of  composition  employed  is  not  the  very  best. 

Probably  it  cannot. 


ARISTOTLE 

(384-322) 

PSYCHOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  *  Greek  by 
WILLIAM   ALEXANDER   HAMMOND 

BOOK   II.     THE   FACULTIES    OF    THE    SOUL 

CHAPTER   I.   DEFINITION   OF   THE    SOUL 

412a 

Let  the  foregoing  f  suffice  as  a  discussion  of  the  traditional 
theories  of  the  soul;  and  now  let  us  resume  our  subject  from  the 
start,  and  attempt  to  determine  the  nature  of  the  soul  and  its 
most  general  definition.  One  class  of  realities  we  call  'sub- 
stance.' This  'substance'  may  be  regarded  on  the  one  hand  as 
matter,  which  in  itself  is  no  definite  thing;  on  the  other  hand, 
as  form  and  idea,  in  terms  of  which  definite  individuality  is 
ascribed  to  a  thing.  A  third  meaning  of  substance  is  the  com- 
posite of  matter  and  form.  Matter  is  potentiality;  form  is 
actuality  or  realization.  The  latter  may  be  looked  at  in  two 
ways,  either  as  complete  realization,  —  comparable  with  per- 
fected knowledge,  or  as  realization  in  process,  —  comparable 
with  the  activity  of  contemplation.  The  notion  of  substance 
appears  to  be  most  generally  employed  in  the  sense  of  body, 
and  particularly  of  physical  body;  for  this  is  the  source  of  all 
other  bodies.  Some  physical  bodies  have,  and  others  have  not, 
Hfe.  By  life  we  understand  an  inherent  principle  of  nutrition, 
growth,  and  decay.  So  that  every  natural  body  endowed  with 
life  would  be  substance,  and  substance  in  this  composite  sense. 

*  From  'ApurrfKovi  trepl  \f/vxv^-  Reprinted  from  Aristotle's  Psychology,  A 
Treatise  on  the  Principle  of  Life,  translated  by  W.  A.  Hammond,  London, 
Swan  Sonnenschein  &  Co.  Ltd.  1902. 

t  Supra,  pp.  5-11. 


46  ARISTOTLE 

The  body,  therefore,  would  not  be  soul,  since  body  is  of  such 
nature  that  life  is  an  attribute  of  it.  For  body  is  not  predicated 
of  something  else,  but  is  rather  itself  substrate  and  matter. 
The  soul  must,  then,  be  substance  in  this  sense :  it  is  the  form  of 
a  natural  body  endowed  with  the  capacity  of  life.  In  this  mean- 
ing substance  is  the  completed  realization.  Soul,  therefore,  will 
be  the  completed  realization  of  a  body  such  as  described.  Com- 
plete realization  is  employed  in  two  senses.  In  the  one  sense  it 
is  comparable  with  perfected  knowledge;  in  another,  it  is  com- 
parable with  the  active  process  of  contemplation.  It  is  evident 
that  we  mean  by  it  here  that  realization  which  corresponds  to 
perfected  knowledge.  Now,  both  waking  and  sleeping  are  in- 
cluded in  the  soul's  existence:  waking  corresponds  to  active 
contemplation;  sleep  to  attained  and  inactive  knowledge.  In  a 
given  case  science  is  earlier  in  origin  than  observation.  Soul, 
then,  is  the  first  entelechy  of  a  natural  body  endowed  with  the 
capacity  of  life.  Such  a  body  one  would  describe  as  organic. 
The  parts  of  plants  are  also  organs,  although  quite  simple  in 
character,  e.g.  the  leaf  is  the  covering  of  the  pericarp,  and  the 
pericarp  is  covering  of  the  fruit;  the  roots  are  analogous  to 
mouths,  both  being  channels  of  nutrition.  If  then  we  were 
obliged  to  give  a  general  description  applicable  to  all  soul  or 
life,  we  should  say  that  it  is  the  first  entelechy  of  a  natural  or- 
ganic body.  It  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  ask  whether  body 
and  soul  are  one,  as  one  should  not  ask  whether  the  wax  and  the 
figure  are  one,  or,  in  general,  whether  the  matter  of  a  particular 
thing  and  the  thing  composed  of  it  are  one.  For  although  unity 
and  being  are  predicated  in  several  senses,  their  proper  sense  is 
that  of  perfect  realization. 

We  have  now  given  a  general  definition  of  the  soul.  We  have 
defined  it  as  an  entity  which  realizes  an  idea.  It  is  the  essential 
notion  which  we  ascribe  to  a  body  of  a  given  kind.  As  an  illus- 
tration, suppose  that  an  instrument,  e.g.  an  axe,  were  a  natural 
body.  Here  the  notion  of  axe  constitutes  its  essential  nature  or 
reality,  and  this  would  be  its  soul.  Were  this  taken  away  it 
would  no  longer  be  an  axe,  except  in  the  sense  of  a  homonym. 
It  is  in  reality,  however,  merely  an  axe,  and  of  a  body  of  this 


PSYCHOLOGY  47 

sort  soul  is  not  the  notional  essence  and  the  idea,  but  soul  ap- 
plies only  to  a  natural  body  of  a  given  kind,  viz.  a  body  whose 
principle  of  movement  and  rest  is  in  itself.  The  principle  ex- 
pressed here  should  be  observed  in  its  application  to  particular 
parts  of  the  body.  For  if  the  eye  were  an  animal,  vision  would 
be  its  soul,  i.e.  vision  is  the  notional  essence  of  the  eye.  The  eye, 
however,  is  the  matter  of  vision,  and  if  the  vision  be  wanting 
the  eye  is  no  longer  an  eye,  save  in  the  meaning  of  a  homonym, 
as  a  stone  eye  or  a  painted  eye.  What  applies  here  to  a  particu- 
lar member,  must  also  apply  to  the  entire  living  body;  for  as  the 
particular  sensation  is  related  to  the  particular  organ  of  sense, 
so  is  the  whole  of  sensation  related  to  the  entire  sensitive  organ- 
ism, in  so  far  as  it  has  sensation.  'Potentiality  of  life'  does  not 
refer  to  a  thing  which  has  become  dispossessed  of  soul,  but  to 
that  which  possesses  it.  Seed  and  fruit  are  potentially  living 
bodies.  As  cutting  is  the  realization  of  the  axe,  and  vision  is  the 
realization  of  the  eye,  so  is  the  waking  state  the  realization  of 
the  living  body;  and  as  vision  and  capacity  are  related  to  the 
organ,  so  is  the  soul  related  to  the  body.  Body  is  the  potential 
substrate.  But  as  vision  and  pupil  on  the  one  hand  constitute 
the  eye,  so  soul  and  body  in  the  other  case  constitute  the  living 
animal.  It  is,  therefore,  clear  that  the  soul  is  not  separable  from 
the  body;  and  the  same  holds  good  of  particular  parts  of  the 
soul,  if  its  nature  admits  of  division,  for  in  some  cases  the  soul  is 
the  realization  of  these  very  parts;  not  but  that  there  are  cer- 
tain other  parts  where  nothing  forbids  their  possible  separation, 
because  they  are  not  realizations  of  any  bodily  nature.  And 
yet  it  is  uncertain  whether  the  soul  as  realization  of  the  body  is 
separable  from  it  in  a  sense  analogous  to  the  separability  of 
sailor  and  boat.  Let  this  suffice  as  a  definition  and  outline 
sketch  of  the  soul. 

CHAPTER  II.    TEE  PRINCIPLE   OF  LIFE 

Inasmuch  as  the  certain  and  the  conceptually  more  knowable 
is  derived  from  what  is  uncertain,  but  sensibly  more  apparent, 
we  must  resume  the  investigation  of  the  soul  from  this  stand- 


48  ARISTOTLE 

point.  For  it  is  necessary  that  the  definition  show  not  merely 
what  a  thing  is,  as  most  definitions  do,  but  it  must  also  contain 
and  exhibit  the  cause  of  its  being  what  it  is.  In  reality,  the 
terms  of  definitions  are  ordinarily  stated  in  the  form  of  conclu- 
sions. What,  e.g.,  is  the  definition  of  squaring?  The  reply  is  that 
squaring  is  the  conversion  of  a  figure  of  unequal  sides  into  a 
right-angled  equilateral  figure  equal  to  the  former.  Such  a 
definition  is  the  expression  of  a  conclusion.  But  to  define  squar- 
ing as  the  discovery  of  a  mean  proportional  line  is  to  define  the 
thing  in  terms  of  its  cause.  Resuming  our  inquiry,  we  say, 
therefore,  that  the  animate  is  distinguished  from  the  inanimate 
by  the  principle  of  hfe.  But  inasmuch  as  life  is  predicated  in 
several  senses,  e.g.  in  the  sense  of  reason,  sensation,  local  move- 
ment and  rest,  and  furthermore  movement  in  the  sense  of 
nutrition,  decay,  and  growth;  if  any  one  of  these  is  discerned 
in  a  thing  we  say  that  it  has  life.  All  plants,  therefore,  are  sup- 
posed to  have  life;  for  evidently  they  have  within  them  a  po- 
tency and  principle  whereby  they  experience  growth  and  decay 
in  opposite  processes.  For  their  growth  is  not  merely  upwards 
or  downwards,  but  in  both  these  directions  alike  and  in  every 
point  where  nutrition  takes  place,  and  they  continue  to  live  as 
long  as  they  are  capable  of  nutrition.  Now  this  faculty  of  nutri- 
tion is  separable  from  the  other  forms  of  life,  but  the  other  forms 
cannot  exist  in  perishable  creatures  apart  from  this  principle 
of  nutrition.  This  is  made  clear  in  the  instance  of  plants;  for 
they  have  no  other  capacity  of  soul  (or  life)  than  this  nutritive 
one.  Owing  to  this  fundamental  principle  of  nourishment, 
therefore,  life  is  found  in  all  animated  living  things,  but  the 
primary  mark  which  distinguishes  an  animal  from  other  forms 
of  life  is  the  possession  of  sensation.  For  even  those  creatures 
which  are  incapable  of  locomotion  or  change  of  place,  but  which 
possess  sensation,  are  called  animals  and  are  not  merely  said  to 
live.  Touch  is  the  primary  form  of  sensation  and  is  found  in  all 
animals.  But  as  the  nutritive  faculty  is  separable  from  touch 
and  sensation  in  general,  so  touch  can  exist  apart  from  the  other 
forms  of  sensation.  By  the  nutritive  power  we  understand 
that  part  of  the  soul  in  which  plants  share;  and  by  the  sensa- 


PSYCHOLOGY  49 

tion  of  touch  we  mean  that  capacity  which  all  animals  possess. 
We  shall  later  on  give  the  explanation  of  these  phenomena. 

For  the  present  let  it  suffice  that  the  soul  is  the  causal  princi- 
ple of  the  aforesaid  phenomena,  and  is  defined  in  terms  of  them, 
I  mean,  in  terms  of  nutrition,  sensation,  reason,  motion.  To  the 
question  whether  each  of  these  forms  of  life  is  a  soul  or  a  part  of 
the  soul;  and,  if  a  part,  whether  in  the  sense  that  the  part  is 
only  notionally  separable  or  really  separable  in  space,  —  the 
reply  is  in  some  respects  easy  and  in  others  difficult.  For  in  the 
case  of  plants,  some  of  them  appear  to  live  when  they  are  di- 
vided up  and  the  parts  are  separated  from  each  other,  indicat- 
ing that  there  is  in  each  of  these  plants  in  actuality  an  unitary 
soul,  but  in  potentiality  several  souls.  And  we  observe  the 
same  thing  taking  place  in  different  varieties  of  soul,  as  e.g.  in 
the  case  of  insects  which  have  been  dism.embered.  Here  each 
part  is  capable  of  sensation  and  locomotion,  but  if  it  is  capable 
of  sensation  it  is  also  capable  of  imagination  and  impulse.  For 
where  there  is  sensation,  there  is  also  pleasure  and  pain,  and 
where  there  is  pleasure  and  pain  there  is  necessarily  also  desire. 
Now  in  regard  to  reason  and  the  speculative  faculty,  we  have 
as  yet  no  certain  evidence,  but  it  seems  to  be  a  generically  dis- 
tinct type  of  soul  and  it  alone  is  capable  of  existing  in  a  state  of 
separation  from  the  body,  as  the  eternal  is  separable  from  the 
mortal.  The  remaining  parts  of  the  soul,  however,  are  from  the 
foregoing  considerations  evidently  not  separable,  as  some  as- 
sert. But  that  they  are  notionally  separable,  is  clear;  for  if  per- 
ceiving is  distinct  from  opining,  the  faculty  of  sensation  or  per- 
ception is  distinct  from  that  whereby  we  opine,  and  each  of 
these  is  in  turn  distinct  from  the  faculties  above  mentioned. 
Furthermore,  all  of  these  are  found  in  some  animals,  while  only 
certain  of  them  are  found  in  others,  and  in  still  others  only  a 
single  one  (and  this  is  the  cause  of  distinctions  amongst  ani- 
mals). The  reason  for  this  must  be  investigated  hereafter.  A 
parallel  instance  is  found  in  regard  to  sensation;  some  animals 
possess  all  the  faculties  of  sense,  others  only  certain  of  them, 
and  still  others  only  the  single  most  fundamental  one,  viz. 
touch. 


50  ARISTOTLE 

The  principle  by  which  we  live  and  have  sensation,  then,  is 
employed  in  a  twofold  sense.  Similarly,  we  employ  the  prin- 
ciple by  which  we  know  in  a  twofold  sense,  viz.  science  and  the 
knowing  mind  (for  we  say  we  know  by  means  of  each  of  these), 
and  in  a  like  manner  the  principle  by  virtue  of  which  we  are 
healthy  is  in  one  sense  health  itself,  and  in  another  sense  a  part 
of  the  body  or  the  whole  of  it.  In  these  cases  knowledge  and 
health  constitute  the  form,  notion,  idea,  and,  as  it  were,  the 
realization  of  a  potential  subject,  —  the  one  of  a  knowing  sub- 
ject and  the  other  of  a  healthy  one,  (realization  is  supposed  to 
attach  to  that  which  has  power  to  effect  changes  and  is  found  in 
a  passive  and  recipient  subject) .  The  soul  is  that  principle  by 
which  in  an  ultimate  sense  we  live  and  feel  and  think;  so  that 
it  is  a  sort  of  idea  and  form,  not  matter  and  substrate.  Now, 
substance  is  employed,  as  we  have  said,  in  a  threefold  meaning, 
viz.  as  form,  as  matter,  and  as  a  composite  of  these  two. 
Amongst  these  meanings  of  substance  matter  signifies  potenti- 
ality; form  signifies  actuality  or  complete  realization.  Inasmuch 
as  it  is  the  composite  which  is  the  animate  creature,  body  can- 
not be  regarded  as  the  complete  realization  of  the  soul,  but  the 
soul  is  the  realization  of  a  given  body.  The  conjecture,  there- 
fore, appears  well  founded  that  the  soul  does  not  exist  apart 
from  a  body  nor  is  it  a  particular  body.  The  soul  is  not  itself 
body,  but  it  is  a  certain  aspect  of  body,  and  is  consequently 
found  in  a  body,  and  furthermore  in  a  body  of  such  and  such  a 
kind.  It  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  it  was  amongst  our  predeces- 
sors who  thought  that  it  is  introduced  into  body  without  prior 
determination  of  the  particular  sort  of  body,  although  no  casual 
subject  appears  capable  of  undergoing  any  casual  or  haphazard 
efifect.*  This  same  result  is  also  reached  by  an  analysis  of  the 
notion  itself;  for  complete  realization  in  every  instance  is  natu- 
rally found  in  a  definite  potentiality  and  in  an  appropriate 
matter.  From  this  it  is  evident  that  the  soul  is  a  kind  of  realiza- 
tion and  expressed  idea  of  a  determinate  potentiality. 

*  Trendelenburg  thinks  the  Pythagoreans  are  meant  here,  owing  to  their 
doctrine  of  transmigration  of  souls.    Cf,  Deanima,  407  b  22. 


PSYCHOLOGY  '        51 

'    CHAPTER   III.    TEE   VARIOUS   MEANINGS  OF 

TEE  SOUL 

In  some  creatures,  as  we  have  said,  all  of  the  above  men- 
tioned psychic  powers  are  found,  in  others  certain  of  them,  and 
in  still  others  only  one.  By  powers  we  mean  here  the  power  of 
nutrition,  of  appetite,  of  sensation,  of  movement  in  space,  and 
of  rational  thought.  In  plants,  only  the  nutritive  power  is 
found;  in  other  creatures  the  power  of  sensation  is  added.  If 
sensation  is  added,  impulse  or  appetite  is  also  implied.  For 
appetite  includes  desire  and  impulse  and  wish.  All  animals 
have  at  least  one  sense  —  touch;  and  to  whatever  creature 
sensation  is  given,  to  it  are  also  given  pleasure  and  pain,  and 
objects  appear  to  be  pleasant  or  painful.  Creatures  which  dis- 
tinguish these,  possess  also  desire;  for  desire  is  an  impulse 
towards  what  is  pleasant.  Further,  animals  possess  a  sense  for 
food,  and  this  is  the  sense  of  touch;  for  all  animals  are  nourished 
by  means  of  the  dry  and  moist,  the  warm  and  cold,  and  it  is 
touch  which  apprehends  these.  It  is  only  incidentally  that 
animals  discern  food  through  other  sensible  qualities;  neither 
sound  nor  colour  nor  smell  contributes  at  all  to  food.  Flavour, 
however,  is  one  of  the  haptic  qualities.  Hunger  and  thirst  are 
desires;  hunger  is  a  desire  of  the  dry  and  warm;  thirst  a  desire 
of  the  cool  and  moist,  and  flavour  is  a  sort  of  seasoning  in  these 
objects.  We  must  explain  these  subjects  minutely  hereafter; 
for  the  present  let  the  statement  suffice,  that  amongst  animals 
where  we  find  touch  we  find  appetite  also.  The  subject  of 
imagination  in  animals  is  uncertain  and  must  be  investigated 
later.  In  addition  to  these  attributes  we  find  amongst  some 
animals  the  power  of  local  movement  and  in  others  we  find  the 
power  of  understanding  and  reason,  as  in  man  and  in  other 
creatures  that  are,  if  there  be  such,  similar  or  superior  to  man. 
It  is  evident  that  a  single  definition  can  be  applied  to  soul  in 
the  same  way  as  a  single  definition  can  be  applied  to  figure.  As 
in  the  latter  case,  there  is  no  figure  beyond  that  of  the  triangle 
and  its  derivations,  so  in  the  former  case  there  is  no  soul  beyond 
those  enumerated.  A  common  definition  might  also  be  applied 


52        '  ARISTOTLE 

to  figures  which  would  fit  them  all  and  be  peculiar  to  no  par- 
ticular figure.  The  same  holds  good  in  the  case  of  the  above 
mentioned  types  of  soul.  It  is,  therefore,  absurd,  both  in  these 
instances  and  in  others,  to  search  for  a  common  definition  which 
shall  not  apply  to  any  individual  real  thing  nor  to  any  peculiar 
and  irreducible  species,  thereby  neglecting  the  particular  mean- 
ing in  the  general.  The  facts  touching  the  soul  are  parallel  to 
this  case  of  figure;  for  both  in  figures  and  in  animate  creatures, 
the  prior  always  exists  potentially  in  the  later,  e.g.  the  triangle 
is  contained  potentially  in  the  square  and  the  nutritive  power 
in  that  of  sensation.  We  must,  therefore,  investigate  the  nature 
of  the  soul  in  particular  things,  e.g.  in  a  plant,  a  man,  or  a  lower 
animal.  And  we  must  consider  the  cause  of  their  order  of  suc- 
cession. The  sensitive  soul,  for  example,  presupposes  the  nutri- 
tive, but  in  the  case  of  plants  the  nutritive  exists  apart  from  the 
sensitive.  Again,  the  sense  of  touch  is  presupposed  by  all  the 
other  senses,  but  touch  exists  apart  from  them  and  does  not 
presuppose  them.  Many  animals  have  no  sense  of  sight,  hear- 
ing, or  smell.  Some  that  are  capable  of  sensation  have  also 
power  of  local  movement,  others  have  not;  finally  the  smallest 
number  possess  the  power  of  reason  and  understanding.  Mortal 
creatures  who  possess  the  power  of  reason,  possess  all  the  other 
psychic  faculties,  but  those  which  have  each  of  these  others  do 
not  all  have  the  power  of  reason,  and  certain  of  them  do  not 
even  possess  imagination,  while  still  others  live  by  this  alone. 
At  another  time  we  shall  give  an  account  of  the  speculative 
reason.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  this  account  touching  each 
particular  form  of  soul  is  also  the  most  fitting  description  of  the 
soul  in  general. 

CHAPTER  IV.    THE  SOUL  AND  FINAL  CAUSE 

If  one  intends  to  make  an  investigation  of  the  faculties  of 
the  soul,  it  is  necessary  first  to  inquire  into  their  several  natures, 
and  then  by  the  same  method  to  inquire  further  into  other 
related  problems.  If,  then,  one  is  obliged  to  describe  the 
nature  of  each  several  faculty,  e.g.  the  nature  of  the  faculty  of 


PSYCHOLOGY  S3 

reason,  of  sense-perception,  or  of  nutrition,  one  must  first  be 
able  to  say  what  thinking  and  sense-perception  mean.  For  the 
activities  and  processes  are  notionally  prior  to  the  faculties  to 
which  they  belong.  If  this  is  true,  we  must  further  observe  the 
objects  of  the  activities  before  the  activities  themselves,  and 
we  should  for  the  same  reason  first  determine  our  position 
regarding  these  objects,  e.g.  regarding  food,  the  sensible,  and  the 
intelligible.  First,  then,  we  must  speak  of  food  and  generation. 
For  the  nutritive  power  is  found  in  all  living  things,  and  is  the 
primary  and  most  universal  faculty  of  soul,  by  virtue  of  which 
all  creatures  possess  life.  Its  functions  are  to  procreate,  and  to 
assimilate  food.  In  all  animals  that  are  perfect  and  not  abnor- 
mal, or  that  are  not  spontaneously  generated,  it  is  the  most 
natural  function  to  beget  another  being  similar  to  itself,  an 
animal  to  beget  another  animal,  a  plant  another  plant,  in  order 
that  they  attain,  as  far  as  possible,  the  immortal  and  divine; 
for  this  is  what  every  creature  aims  at,  and  this  is  the  final 
cause  of  every  creature's  natural  life.  We  understand  by  final 
cause  two  things:  the  purpose  aimed  at,  and  the  person  who  is 
served  by  the  purpose.  Since  it  is  impossible  for  an  individual 
to  partake  of  the  immortal  and  divine  in  its  own  continuous 
life,  because  no  perishable  creature  continues  self-identical  and 
numerically  one,  it  partakes  therefore  of  the  immortal  in  that 
way  in  which  it  is  able  to  share  it,  one  thing  in  a  higher  degree 
and  another  in  a  lower;  it  does  not  itself  abide,  but  only  a  simi- 
lar self  abides;  in  its  continuity  it  is  not  numerically,  but  only 
specifically,  one. 

The  soul  is  the  cause  and  principle  of  a  living  body.  These 
terms  are  used  in  several  senses.  Corresponding  to  these  differ- 
ences, the  soul  is  referred  to  as  cause  in  three  distinct  meanings; 
for  it  is  cause  in  the  sense  of  the  source  of  movement,  of  final 
cause,  and  as  the  real  substance  of  animate  bodies.  That  it  is  a 
cause  in  the  sense  of  real  substance  is  evident,  for  real  substance 
is  in  every  case  the  cause  of  being,  and  the  being  of  animals  is 
their  life,  and  soul  is  the  cause  and  principle  of  life.  Further- 
more, it  is  the  complete  realization  that  gives  us  the  real  signifi- 
cance of  a  potential  being.  Soul  is  also  evidently  cause  in  the 


54  ARISTOTLE 

sense  of  final  cause.  For  nature,  like  reason,  acts  with  purpose, 
and  this  purpose  is  its  end.  In  animals  the  soul  is,  by  virtue  of 
its  nature,  a  principle  similar  to  this.  For  the  soul  uses  all  natu- 
ral bodies  as  its  instruments,  the  bodies  of  animals  and  the 
bodies  of  plants  alike,  which  exist  for  the  soul  as  their  end.  End 
is  used  in  two  senses:  the  purpose,  and  the  person  or  thing 
which  the  purpose  serves.  Soul  also  means  the  primary  source 
of  local  movement.  This  power  of  local  movement  is  not  pos- 
sessed by  all  living  creatures.  Transformation  and  growth  are 
also  due  to  the  soul.  For  sense-perception  is  supposed  to  be  a 
kind  of  transformation,  and  nothing  is  capable  of  sense-percep- 
tion unless  it  has  a  soul.  The  case  is  similar  with  growth  and 
decay.  For  nothing  grows  or  decays  by  natural  processes  unless 
it  admit  of  nutrition,  and  nothing  is  capable  of  nutrition  unless 
it  has  a  soul.  Empedocles  ascribes  downward  growth  to  plants 
where  they  are  rooted,  because  the  earth  naturally  tends  dowTi- 
ward,  and  upward  growth,  because  fire  tends  in  that  direction, 
and  in  these  respects  is  not  right.  For  Empedocles  does  not 
employ  the  terms 'up'  and  'down'  correctly.  *Up'  and  'down' 
are  not  the  same  for  all  things  nor  in  all  parts  of  the  universe, 
for  roots  are  to  plants  what  the  head  is  to  animals,  if  one  is  to 
describe  organs  as  identical  or  different  in  terms  of  their  func- 
tions. In  addition,  what  principle  is  it  that  holds  together  these 
two  elements  of  fire  and  earth,  tending,  as  they  do,  in  opposite 
directions?  For  they  will  scatter  asunder,  if  there  be  no  hinder- 
ing principle.  And  if  there  is  such  a  principle,  it  is  the  soul  and 
the  cause  of  growth  and  nourishment.  Some  regard  fire  as  the 
real  cause  of  nutrition  and  growth.  For  this  seems  to  be  the 
only  body  or  element  that  feeds  and  increases  itself.  One  might, 
therefore,  conjecture  that  this  is  the  element  that  causes  growth 
and  nutrition  in  animals  and  plants.  In  a  certain  sense,  it  is 
true,  fire  is  a  co-ordinate  cause,  but  not  the  absolute  cause,  of 
growth;  this  is  rather  the  soul.  For  the  growth  of  fire  is  indeter- 
minate so  long  as  there  is  material  to  burn;  on  the  other  hand, 
in  all  bodies  developed  in  nature  there  is  a  limit  and  significance 
to  size  and  growth.  These  attributes  ([of  limit  and  significance]) 
belong  to  soul,  not  to  fire,  to  reason  rather  than  to  matter. 


PSYCHOLOGY  55 

Since  the  same  power  of  the  soul  is  both  nutritive  and  gen- 
erative, we  must  first  investigate  nutrition;  for  it  is  by  this 
function  of  nutrition  that  the  faculty  in  question  is  distinguished 
from  other  faculties.  Nutrition  is  supposed  to  take  place  by  the 
law  of  opposites,  although  not  every  opposite  is  nourished  by 
every  other,  but  such  opposites  only  as  derive  both  their  origin 
and  their  growth  from  each  other.  Many  things  are  derived 
from  one  another,  but  they  are  not  all  quantitative  changes,  as 
e.g.  healthy  from  sickly.  Nutrition  is  not  applied  to  these  cases 
in  the  same  sense,  for  while  water  is  nutriment  for  fire,  fire  does 
not  nourish  water.  The  opposites  of  food  and  nourishment 
appear  to  apply  particularly  to  simple  bodies.  There  is,  how- 
ever, a  difficulty  here.  For  there  are  some  who  maintain  that 
like  is  nourished  by  like,  as  like  is  also  increased  by  like,  while 
others,  as  we  said,  affirm  the  converse  of  this,  viz.,  that  oppo- 
sites are  nourished  by  opposites,  on  the  ground  that  like  is  in- 
capable of  being  affected  by  like.  Food,  however,  undergoes 
transformation  and  is  digested,  and  transformation  is  in  every 
case  toward  the  opposite  or  the  intermediate.  Further,  food  is 
affected  by  the  body  which  assimilates  it;  the  latter,  however, 
is  not  affected  by  the  food,  just  as  the  builder  is  not  affected  by 
his  material,  although  the  material  undergoes  change  through 
him.  The  builder  merely  passes  from  a  state  of  inactivity  into 
one  of  activity.  The  question  whether  nourishment  is  to  be 
understood  to  apply  to  the  final  condition  in  which  it  is  taken 
up  by  the  body,  or  to  its  original  condition,  creates  a  difficulty. 
If  both  are  meant,  only  in  the  one  case  the  food  is  indigested 
and  in  the  other  digested,  it  would  be  possible  to  speak  of  nour- 
ishment conformably  to  both  of  the  above  theories;  for  in  so  far 
as  it  is  indigested,  we  should  have  opposite  nourished  by  oppo- 
site; in  so  far  as  it  is  digested,  we  should  have  like  nourished  by 
like;  so  that  in  a  certain  sense,  it  is  evident  they  are  both  right 
and  both  wrong.  Since  nothing  is  nourished  which  does  not 
share  fife,  the  object  of  nutrition  would  be  an  animate  body  as 
animate;  so  that  food  is  determined  by  its  relation  to  an  ani- 
mate object  and  is  not  accidental.  There  is  a  difference  between 
the  nourishment  and  the  principle  of  growth;  in  so  far  as  the 


S6  ARISTOTLE 

animate  thing  is  quantitative,  the  notion  of  growth  apph'es;  in 
so  far  as  it  is  a  particular  substance,  the  notion  of  nourishment. 
For  food  preserves  a  being  as  a  substantial  thing,  and  it  con- 
tinues to  exist  so  long  as  it  is  nourished.  Nourishment  is  pro- 
ductive of  generation,  not  the  generation  of  the  nourished  thing, 
but  of  a  being  similar  to  it.  For  the  former  exists  already  as  a 
reality,  and  nothing  generates,  but  merely  preserves,  itself. 
So  then,  such  a  principle  of  the  soul  as  we  have  described  is  a 
power  capable  of  preserving  that  in  which  this  principle  is 
found,  in  so  far  as  it  is  found;  nourishment  equips  i-t  for  action. 
When,  therefore,  it  is  deprived  of  nourishment,  it  can  no  longer 
exist.  Since  there  are  three  distinct  things  here:  the  object 
nourished,  the  means  of  nourishment,  and  the  power  that 
causes  nutrition,  we  shall  say  that  it  is  the  elemental  soul  that 
causes  nutrition,  the  object  nourished  is  the  body  which  pos- 
sesses this  soul,  and  the  means  of  nourishment  is  the  food.  And 
since  it  is  fair  to  give  everything  a  name  in  terms  of  its  end,  and 
since  here  the  end  of  the  soul  is  to  generate  a  creature  like  to 
itself,  the  elemental  soul  might  be  called  generative  of  that 
which  is  like  to  itself.  The  means  of  nourishment  is  used  in  two 
senses,  as  is  also  the  means  of  steering  a  ship;  for  one  may  refer 
to  the  hand,  or  to  the  rudder,  the  one  being  both  actively  mov- 
ing and  moved;  the  other  only  passively  moved.  All  nutriment 
must  be  capable  of  being  digested;  heat  is  the  element  which 
accomplishes  digestion.  Everything  animate,  therefore,  pos- 
sesses heat.  We  have  explained  now,  in  outline,  what  nutri- 
ment is.  The  subject  must  be  more  minutely  treated  later  on  in 
its  proper  place. 

CHAPTER   V.    SENSATION  AND   THOUGHT 

Now  that  we  have  arrived  at  the  foregoing  conclusions, 
let  us  discuss  in  general  the  entire  question  of  sense-perception. 
It  consists,  as  we  have  said,  in  being  moved  and  affected;  for  it 
is  supposed  to  be  a  sort  of  internal  transformation.  Some  main- 
tain that  like  is  affected  by  like.  In  what  sense  this  is  possible 
and  in  what  sense  impossible,  I  have  explained  in  a  general 


PSYCHOLOGY  57 

treatise  On  Activity  and  Passivity.  A  difficulty  is  raised  by  the 
question  why  it  is  that  perceptions  do  not  arise  from  the  senses 
themselves,  and  why  it  is  that  without  external  stimuli  they 
produce  no  sensation,  although  fire  and  earth,  and  the  other 
elements  of  which  we  have  sense-perception,  are,  either  in  their 
essential  nature  or  in  their  attributes,  found  in  the  senses.  It  is, 
therefore,  evident  that  the  organ  of  sense-perception  is  not  a 
thing  in  actuality  but  only  in  potentiality.  It  is  consequently 
analogous  to  the  combustible  which  does  not  itself  ignite  with- 
out something  to  set  it  ablaze.  Otherwise  it  would  have  burned 
itself  and  had  no  need  of  an  active  fire.  Inasmuch  as  we  say 
that  perceiving  is  used  in  two  meanings  {e.g.  we  call  the  capacity 
to  hear  and  see,  hearing  and  sight,  although  they  may  chance 
to  be  dormant,  and  we  apply  the  same  terms  where  the  senses 
are  actively  exercised) ,  so  sense-perception  also  would  be  used 
in  two  senses,  the  one  potential  and  the  other  actual.  First  of 
all  let  us  understand  that  the  terms  affection,  motion,  and 
activity,  are  used  in  the  same  meaning.  For  motion  is  a  sort 
of  activity,  although  incomplete,  as  we  have  said  elsewhere. 
Everything  is  affected  and  set  in  motion  by  an  active  agent  and 
by  something  that  exists  in  activity.  Therefore  in  one  sense  a 
thing  is  affected  by  like,  in  another  by  unlike,  as  we  have  said; 
for  it  is  the  unlike  that  is  affected,  but  after  being  affected  it  is 
like. 

We  must,  further,  make  a  distinction  touching  potentiality 
and  actuality,  for  we  are  now  using  these  terms  in  a  general 
sense.  There  is  a  sense  in  which  we  speak  of  a  thing  as  knowing, 
as  when  we  call  man  knowing,  because  man  belongs  to  the  class 
of  creatures  that  know  and  are  endowed  with  knowledge.  There 
is  another  sense  in  which  we  speak  of  a  man  as  possessing  the 
particular  knowledge  of  grammar.  In  each  of  these  cases  a  man 
possesses  knowledge  potentially,  but  not  in  the  same  sense;  the 
former  is  knowing  as  belonging  to  a  certain  genus  and  as  hav- 
ing a  native  endowment;  the  latter  is  knowing  in  the  sense  of 
being  able  to  exercise  his  knowledge  at  will,  when  nothing 
external  prevents.  In  a  still  different  sense  there  is  the  man  who 
is  actually  exercising  his  knowledge,  and  is  in  a  condition  of 


58  ARISTOTLE 

complete  realization,  having  in  the  strict  sense  knowledge  of  a 
particular  thing,  as  e.g.  A.  The  first  two  know  in  a  potential 
sense;  the  one  of  them,  however,  knows  when  he  is  trans- 
formed through  a  discipline  of  knowledge,  and  has  passed  re- 
peatedly out  of  an  opposite  condition;  the  other  knows  in  the 
sense  of  possessing  arithmetical  or  grammatical  science;  and 
their  passing  from  non-actual  to  actual  knowledge  is  different. 
Again,  neither  is  the  term  'passivity'  used  in  an  absolute  mean- 
ing: in  one  meaning,  it  is  destruction  by  an  opposite  principle; 
in  another  meaning,  it  is  the  preservation  of  the  potentially 
existent  by  means  of  the  actual  and  similar,  just  as  potentiality 
is  related  to  actuality.  That  which  possesses  potential  know- 
ledge, for  instance,  comes  to  the  actual  use  of  it  —  a  transition 
that  we  must  either  not  call  transformation  (for  the  added 
element  belongs  to  its  own  nature  and  tends  to  its  own  realiza- 
tion), or  else  we  must  call  it  a  special  kind  of  transformation. 
It  is,  therefore,  incorrect  to  speak  of  thinking  as  a  transforma- 
tion when  one  thinks,  just  as  the  builder  is  not  transformed 
when  he  is  building  a  house.  That  which  conduces  to  actuali- 
zation out  of  a  potential  state  in  the  matter  of  reasoning  and 
thinking  is  not  fairly  called  teaching,  but  must  be  given  another 
name.  Again,  that  which  passes  out  of  a  potential  state  by 
learning  or  by  acquiring  knowledge  at  the  hands  of  what 
actually  knows  and  can  teach,  must  either  not  be  said  to  be 
affected  as  a  passive  subject,  or  we  must  admit  two  meanings 
of  transformation,  the  one  a  change  into  a  negative  condition, 
and  the  other  into  a  positive  condition  and  the  thing's  natural 
state. 

The  first  change  in  the  sentient  subject  is  wrought  by  the 
generating  parent,  but  after  birth  the  creature  comes  into  the 
possession  of  sense-perception  as  a  species  of  knowledge.  Act- 
ive sensation  is  used  in  a  way  similar  to  active  thinking.  There 
is,  however,  this  difference,  that  the  objects  which  produce 
sensation  are  external,  e.g.  the  visible  and  the  audible,  and 
similarly  other  sensible  qualities.  The  reason  for  this  is  that 
active  sense-perception  refers  to  particular  things,  while  scien- 
tific knowledge  refers  to  the  universal.   These  imiversals,  how- 


PSYCHOLOGY  59 

ever,  are,  in  a  certain  sense,  in  the  mind  itself.  Therefore  it  is 
in  one's  power  to  think  when  one  wills,  but  to  experience  sense- 
perception  is  not  thus  in  one's  power;  for  a  sensible  object  must 
first  be  present.  This  also  holds  good  of  those  sciences  which 
deal  with  sensible  realities,  and  for  the  same  reason,  viz.  because 
these  sensible  realities  belong  to  the  world  of  particular  and 
external  phenomena. 

To  go  into  the  details  of  these  questions  would  be  more  suit- 
able at  another  time.  For  the  present  so  much  may  be  regarded 
as  fixed,  viz.  that  the  term  'potential'  is  not  used  in  any  abso- 
lute sense,  but  in  one  case  its  meaning  is  similar  to  our  saying 
that  a  boy  has  in  him  the  potentiality  of  a  general*,  and  in  an- 
other case  to  our  saying  that  a  man  in  his  prime  has  that  poten- 
tiality —  a  distinction  which  also  applies  to  the  capacity  for 
sense-perception.  Inasmuch  as  this  distinction  has  no  particu- 
lar name  in  our  language,  although  we  have  remarked  that  the 
things  are  different  and  how  they  differ,  we  must  simply  employ 
the  terms  affection  and  transformation  as  applicable  here. 
That  which  is  capable  of  sense-perception  is,  as  we  have  said, 
potentially  what  the  sensible  is  actually.  It  is,  therefore, 
affected  at  a  moment  when  it  is  unlike,  but  when  it  has  been 
affected  it  becomes  like  and  is  as  its  object. 

CHAPTER   VI.  SENSE  QUALITIES 

In  discussing  any  form  of  sense-perception  we  must  begin 
with  the  sensible  object.  The  'object  of  sense'  is  used  in  three 
meanings,  two  of  which  touch  the  essential  nature  of  sensation 
and  one  its  accidents.  Of  the  two  first-named,  one  applies  spe- 
cially to  each  particular  sense,  the  other  is  common  to  them  all. 
By  *  peculiar  object  of  sense '  I  mean  a  sense-quality  which  can- 
not be  apprehended  by  a  sense  different  from  that  to  which  it 
belongs,  and  concerning  which  that  sense  cannot  be  deceived, 
e.g.  colour  is  the  peculiar  object  of  vision,  sound  of  hearing, 
flavour  of  taste.  Touch,  however,  discriminates  several  sense- 
qualities.  The  other  particular  senses,  on  the  contrary,  dis- 
tinguish only  their  peculiar  objects,  and  the  senses  are  not 


6o  ARISTOTLE 

deceived  in  the  fact  that  a  quality  is  colour  or  sound,  although 
they  may  be  deceived  as  to  what  or  where  the  coloured  or 
sonorous  object  may  be.  Such  qualities  are  called  the  peculiar 
objects  of  particular  senses,  whereas  common  objects  are  mo- 
tion, rest,  number,  form,  magnitude.  Properties  of  the  latter 
kind  are  not  the  peculiar  objects  of  any  sense,  but  are  common 
to  them  all.  Motion  is  apprehended  by  touch  and  by  sight. 
A  thing  is  an  object  of  sense  accidentally,  e.g.  when  a  white 
object  proves  to  be  the  son  of  Diares.  The  latter  is  perceived 
accidentally,  for  the  person  whom  one  perceives  is  an  accident 
of  the  white  object.  Therefore,  the  sense  as  such  is  not  affected 
by  the  sensible  object  ([as  a  person]).  To  the  objects  of  sense, 
strictly  regarded,  belong  such  properties  as  are  peculiarly  and 
properly  sense-qualities,  and  it  is  with  these  that  the  essential 
nature  of  each  sense  is  naturally  concerned. 

BOOK  III.     SENSATION,    IMAGINATION    AND 
THOUGHT 

CHAPTER  I.    THE   'COMMON  SENSIBLES' 

That  there  is  no  additional  sense  beyond  the  five  we  have 
enumerated  (I  mean  sight,  hearing,  smell,  taste,  and  touch), 
one  may  believe  from  the  following  considerations.  Granted 
that  we  really  have  perception  of  everything  for  which  touch  is 
the  appropriate  sense  (for  all  the  qualities  of  the  tangible  as 
such  are  apprehended  by  touch),  it  is  necessary  that  if  any 
sensation  is  lacking,  some  organ  must  also  be  lacking  in  us. 
Whatever  we  perceive  by  contact  is  perceived  by  the  sense  of 
touch,  with  which  we  are  endowed.  On  the  other  hand,  what- 
ever we  perceive  through  media  and  not  by  direct  contact,  is 
perceived  by  simple  elements,  such  as  air  and  water.  The  con- 
ditions here  are  such  that  if  several  sensible  objects  which  differ 
from  each  other  generically  are  perceived  by  a  single  medium, 
then  anyone  who  has  a  sense-organ  analogous  to  this  medium 
must  be  capable  of  perceiving  these  several  sense-objects.  For 
example,  if  the  sense-organ  is  composed  of  air  and  the  air  is  the 


PSYCHOLOGY  6i 

medium  of  both  sound  and  colour,  the  organ  would  perceive 
both  these  sense-qualities.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  several  ele- 
ments are  mediators  of  the  same  sense-qualities,  as  e.g.  colour  is 
mediated  both  by  air  and  water  (for  both  are  diaphanous), 
then  the  organ  which  contains  one  of  these  elements  alone  will 
perceive  that  which  is  mediated  by  both  of  them.  The  sense- 
organs  are  composed  exclusively  of  these  two  simple  elements, 
air  and  water  (for  the  pupil  of  the  eye  is  composed  of  water,  the 
hearing  of  air,  smell  of  one  or  the  other  of  these).  Fire,  how- 
ever, belongs  to  no  organ  or  it  is  common  to  them  all  (for 
nothing  is  sentient  without  heat).  Earth  belongs  either  to  no 
organ  or  it  is  chiefly  and  in  a  special  manner  combined  with 
touch.  Nothing  would  remain,  therefore,  excepting  air  and 
water,  to  constitute  a  sense-organ.  Some  animals  have,  in  act- 
ual fact,  these  organs  as  described.  Animals  which  are  perfect 
and  not  defective  have  all  these  senses.  For  even  the  mole,  as 
one  may  observe,  has  eyes  underneath  its  skin.  Consequently, 
unless  there  are  bodies  other  than  those  known  to  us,  or  quali- 
ties other  than  those  which  belong  to  earthly  bodies,  we  may 
conclude  there  is  no  sense  lacking  in  us. 

Neither  is  it  possible  that  there  should  be  any  peculiar  organ 
for  the  perception  of  common  properties  such  as  we  perceive 
accidentally  by  means  of  the  individual  senses,  e.g.  common 
properties  like  motion,  rest,  form,  magnitude,  number,  unity. 
For  all  these  properties  we  perceive  by  means  of  motion,  e.g. 
magnitude  is  perceived  by  motion.  So  also  is  form,  for  form  is  a 
sort  of  magnitude,  and  rest  we  perceive  from  the  absence  of 
motion.  We  perceive  numbers  by  the  negation  of  continuity 
and  by  the  special  senses,  for  each  sensation  is  experienced  as  a 
unit.  So,  then,  it  is  clearly  impossible  that  any  particular  sense 
should  apply  to  these  common  properties,  such  as  motion.  For 
this  would  be  like  one  now  perceiving  the  sweet  by  means  of 
sight.  This  is  because  we  happen  to  have  senses  for  both  qual- 
ities ([i.e.  for  the  sweet  and  for  colour]) ,  whereby  when  the  given 
qualities  coincide  in  one  object,  we  recognize  the  object  as 
sweet.  Otherwise  we  do  not  perceive  the  sweet,  excepting  in  the 
sense  of  accident,  as  e.g.  when  we  recognize  the  son  of  Cleon  not 


62  ARISTOTLE 

because  he  is  Cleon's  son,  but  because  he  is  a  fair  object,  which 
for  the  son  of  Cleon  is  an  accident. 

We  have  indeed  a  'common  sense'  for  the  perception  of 
common  qualities.  I  do  not  mean  accidentally.  It  is  therefore 
not  a  particular  sense,  for  in  that  case  we  should  perceive  in  no 
other  way  than  as  just  now  described  in  the  illustration  of 
Cleon.  A  sense,  however,  perceives  accidentally  the  qualities 
that  are  peculiar  to  a  different  sense,  not  in  their  own  nature 
but  because  of  the  unity  of  these  qualities,  as  when  two  sense- 
qualities  apply  to  the  same  object,  e.g.  in  the  case  of  bile  that 
it  is  both  bitter  and  yellow.  Now,  it  is  not  the  function  of  either 
particular  sense  to  say  that  both  these  qualities  inhere  in  one 
thing  and  it  is  owing  to  this  fact  that  error  arises,  when  in  the 
case  of  a  yellow  substance  one  opines  it  to  be  bile.  One  might 
ask  why  we  are  endowed  with  several  senses  and  not  with  one 
only.  Is  it  not  that  facts  of  sequence  and  coincidence,  such 
as  motion,  magnitude,  and  number,  might  the  less  escape  us? 
For  if  we  possessed  sight  only,  and  this  were  limited  to  the  per- 
ception of  whiteness,  then  all  other  distinctions  would  the  more 
easily  escape  our  knowledge,  and  because  colour  and  magnitude 
are  always  coincident,  they  would  appear  to  be  identical.  In 
point  of  fact,  however,  since  these  common  qualities  are  found 
in  different  sense-objects,  it  is  evident  that  the  several  quali- 
ties themselves  are  different. 

CHAPTER  II.    THE   'COMMON  SENSE' 

But  inasmuch  as  we  perceive  that  we  see  and  hear,  we  must 
have  this  consciousness  of  vision  either  by  the  instrument  of 
sight  or  by  some  other  faculty.^  The  same  faculty  will  then 
apply  both  to  sight  and  to  colour,  the  object  of  sight.  In  this 
case,  either  we  shall  have  two  senses  for  the  same  thing,  or  a 
sense  will  be  conscious  of  itself.  Further,  if  there  is  another 
sense  for  the  perception  of  sight,  either  we  shall  have  an  infinite 
regressus,  or  a  given  sense  must  finally  be  cognizant  of  itself,  in 
which  case  one  would  better  admit  this  in  the  instance  of  the 

^  This  function  of  consciousness  is  performed  by  the  '  sensus  communis.' 


PSYCHOLOGY  63 

original  sense  itself,  i.e.  sight.  Here,  however,  is  a  difficulty. 
For,  if  sensation  by  means  of  sight  is  vision,  and  colour  or  that 
which  possesses  colour  is  what  we  see,  then  the  seeing  faculty 
itself  must  first  of  all  have  colour  in  order  to  be  seen.  It  is  plain, 
therefore,  that  sensation  by  means  of  sight  is  not  employed  in 
a  single  meaning.  For  even  when  we  do  not  see,  it  is  by  means 
of  sight  that  we  judge  both  of  darkness  and  light,  although 
not  in  the  same  way.  Furthermore,  the  seeing  subject  is  in  a 
certain  sense  saturated  with  colour,  since  each  sentient  organ 
receives  into  itself  the  sensible  object  without  its  matter. 
This  explains  the  fact  that  when  objects  of  sense  have  been 
.  removed,  the  sensations  and  images  still  persist  in  the  sense- 
organ. 

The  actualization  of  the  object  of  sense  and  of  the  sense  itself 
is  one  and  the  same  process;  they  are  not,  however,  identical 
with  each  other  in  their  essential  nature.  I  mean,  for  instance, 
actual  sound  and  actual  hearing  are  not  the  same.  For  it  is  pos- 
sible for  one  who  has  hearing  not  to  hear,  and  for  a  sonorous 
body  not  to  emit  sound  at  every  instant.  When,  however,  that 
which  has  the  potentiality  of  hearing  and  that  which  has  the 
potentiality  of  sounding,  actually  hear  and  actually  emit  sound, 
at  that  moment  the  realized  hearing  and  the  realized  sound  are 
simultaneously  complete,  and  one  would  call  them  respectively 
the  sensation  of  hearing  and  the  act  of  sounding.  If,  then, 
movement,  activity,  and  passivity  are  implied  in  the  produced 
object,  it  must  be  that  actual  sound  and  hearing  exist  in  a  po- 
tential state.  For  creative  and  motive  activity  is  given  in  ante- 
cedent passivity.  It  is,  therefore,  not  necessary  for  the  moving 
principle  to  be  itself  in  actual  motion.  For  as  action  and  passion 
find  their  expression  in  the  object  acted  upon  and  not  in  the 
producing  agent,  so  too  the  actualization  of  the  sensible  object 
and  the  sense-organ  is  expressed  in  the  latter.  The  actualiza- 
tion of  a  sonorous  body  is  sound  or  sounding;  the  actualization 
of  the  hearing  organ  is  audition  or  hearing.  For  hearing  is  two- 
fold and  sound  is  twofold,  and  the  same  statement  applies  to 
other  senses  and  sense-objects.  In  some  instances  the  two  have 
a  distinct  name,  as  e.g.  hearing  and  sounding;  in  other  instances 


64  ARISTOTLE 

one  of  the  two  is  nameless.  For  the  actuaHzation  of  sight  is 
called  seeing,  but  the  actualization  of  colour  has  no  name;  the 
actualization  of  the  organ  of  taste  is  called  tasting,  while  the 
actualization  of  flavour  is  nameless.  Inasmuch  as  the  actuali- 
zation of  the  sense-object  and  the  sense-organ  is  one  and  the 
same  process,  although  the  two  things  differ  in  their  essential 
nature,  it  is  necessary  that  hearing  and  sound,  in  this  sense, 
should  be  both  either  destroyed  together  or  preserved  together; 
and  the  same  applies  to  flavour  and  taste,  and  to  the  other 
sense-correlates.  This  necessity  does  not,  however,  apply  to 
the  sense-correlates  in  their  potential  signification.  On  the 
contrary,  the  old  naturalists  were  wrong  here,  supposing,  as 
they  did,  that  neither  white  nor  black  has  existence  apart  from 
sight,  nor  flavour  apart  from  taste.  In  one  way  they  were  right 
and  in  another  wrong.  For  owing  to  the  fact  that  sense  and 
sense-object  have  a  twofold  signification,  namely  that  of  poten- 
tiality and  that  of  actuality,  their  dictum  was  applicable  to  the 
one  meaning,  but  not  to  the  other.  They  applied  it,  however, 
to  things  absolutely  which  are  not  predicated  absolutely. 

If  harmony  is  voice  of  a  certain  kind,  and  if  voice  and  hearing 
are  in  a  sense  one  and  the  same,  and  in  another  sense  not  one 
and  the  same,  and  if,  further,  harmony  is  a  relation  of  parts, 
hearing  must  likewise  be  a  relation  of  parts.  It  is  for  this  reason 
([i.e.  because  sensation  is  a  kind  of  proportion])  that  every 
excessive  stimulus,  whether  acute  or  grave,  disturbs  hearing. 
In  like  manner  the  sense  of  taste  is  disturbed  by  excessive  fla- 
vours, the  sense  of  sight  by  extremely  glaring  or  extremely  faint 
colours,  smell  by  excessive  odours,  whether  cloying  or  acrid. 
Consequently,  qualities  are  agreeable  when,  pure  and  immixed, 
they  are  reduced  to  proportion,  as  e.g.  the  pungent,  sweet,  or 
saline,  or  in  the  domain  of  touch,  the  warm  and  cool.  It  is  then 
that  properties  are  pleasant.  In  general,  the  mixed,  rather  than 
the  acute  or  grave  alone,  is  harmony.  And  sensation  is  propor- 
tion. Excessive  stimuli  either  produce  pain  or  pervert  the 
organ. 

Every  sense  is  directed  to  its  own  peculiar  sense-object;  it  is 
given  in  the  sense-organ  as  such,  and  it  distinguishes  the  differ- 


PSYCHOLOGY  65 

ent  qualities  in  its  appointed  sense-object,  as  e.g.  white  and 
black  in  the  case  of  sight,  sweet  and  bitter  in  the  case  of  taste. 
And  the  same  can  be  said  of  other  senses.  Now  inasmuch  as  we 
distinguish  white,  sweet,  and  every  sense-quality  by  its  relation 
to  a  particular  sense,  by  what  instrument  do  we  perceive  that 
these  qualities  differ  from  one  another?  We  must  do  so  by 
means  of  sensation,  for  they  are  sense-qualities.  Is  it  not  plain 
that  the  flesh  is  not  the  final  organ  of  sense?  For  the  judging 
subject  would  then  necessarily  distinguish  an  object  by  con- 
tact. Neither  is  it  possible  by  means  of  the  distinct  senses  to 
judge  that  sweet  is  different  from  white,  but  it  is  necessary  that 
both  these  qualities  be  cognized  by  some  one  faculty;  other- 
wise it  would  be  like  my  perceiving  one  thing  and  you  another, 
and  so  proving  that  they  are  different.  A  single  factilty  must, 
therefore,  say  that  they  are  different.  For  the  sweet  is  actually 
different  from  the  white.  One  and  the  same  faculty,  then,  must 
affirm  this.  And  as  this  faculty  affirms,  so  do  thought  and 
perception  agree.  It  is  clear  that  we  cannot  judge  of  distinct 
qualities  by  different  senses,  and  we  can  conclude  from  this 
that  we  cannot  judge  of  them  at  distinct  intervals  of  time.  For 
it  is  one  and  the  same  principle  in  us  which  says  that  the  good  is 
different  from  the  bad.  Further,  it  says  that  they  are  different 
and  distinct  at  the  moment  when  this  affirmation  is  made.  And 
when  is  not  used  here  in  an  accidental  sense,  by  which  I  mean : 
when  does  not  apply  merely  to  the  time  of  the  affirmation,  e.g. 
I  say  now  that  it  is  different,  but  it  applies  also  to  the  thing 
affirmed,  I  say  that  it  is  different  now,  i.e.  the  time  applies  to  the 
assertion  and  thing  coincidently.  So  the  two  elements  here  are 
inseparable,  and  are  given  in  an  indivisible  moment  of  time.  It 
is  impossible  for  the  same  thing  or  an  indivisible  entity  to  under- 
go opposite  processes  simultaneously  and  in  an  indivisible  mo- 
ment of  time.  For  if  sweetness  stimulates  sensation  or  thought 
in  one  way,  then  bitter  stimulates  it  in  an  opposite  way  and 
whiteness  in  some  other  way.  Is,  then,  the  judging  principle  ^ 
something  at  once  numerically  indivisible  and  inseparable, 
yet  separable  in  the  mode  of  its  existence?  There  is  a  sense, 
^  The  judging  principle  is  the  'common  sense.' 


66  ARISTOTLE 

then,  in  which  as  divisible  it  perceives  the  divisible,  and  a  sense 
in  which  as  indivisible  it  perceives  the  indivisible.  For  in  its 
significant  being  it  is  divisible,  but  spatially  and  numerically  it 
is  indivisible.  Or  is  this  not  possible?  Potentially,  indeed,  one 
and  the  same  indivisible  thing  may  contain  opposite  properties, 
but  not  in  actuality;  in  its  realized  self  it  is  separate,  and  it  is 
impossible  for  a  thing  to  be  at  the  same  moment  both  black  and 
white.  So  that  it  is  not  possible  for  even  the  forms  of  experience 
to  undergo  these  opposites,  if  sensation  and  thought  be  such 
forms.  Rather  the  case  here  is  similar  to  what  some  call  a  point, 
which  is  divisible  or  indivisible,  as  one  regards  it  in  its  single  or 
dual  nature.  In  so  far  as  it  is  indivisible,  the  judging  principle  is 
one  and  coincident  with  perception;  in  so  far  as  it  is  divisible, 
it  is  not  one,  for  it  employs  twice  and  simultaneously  the  same 
mark.  In  so  far  as  it  employs  a  terminal  mark  as  two,  it  dis- 
tinguishes two  things,  and  these  are  separable  for  it  as  a  separa- 
ble faculty.  In  so  far  as  it  regards  the  point  as  one,  it  judges 
singly  and  coincidently  with  perception. 

In  this  way,  then,  let  us  state  our  definition  of  the  principle 
by  virtue  of  which  we  say  that  animals  are  sentient  beings. 

CHAPTER  III.    IMAGINATION 

Inasmuch  as  the  soul  is  defined  mainly  by  means  of  two 
attributes,  namely  by  locomotion  on  the  one  hand  and  by 
thought,  judgment,  and  sensation  on  the  other,  it  is  supposed 
that  thought  and  reflexion  are  a  kind  of  sensation  (for  in  both 
instances  the  soul  discriminates  and  cognizes  some  reality),  and 
even  the  old  writers  tell  us  that  reflexion  and  sensation  are  iden- 
tical, as  e.g.  Empedocles,  who  said:  "Wisdom  groweth  in  man 
in  the  face  of  a  present  object";  and  in  another  verse:  "Hence 
is  given  unto  them  the  power  of  reflecting  ever  and  anon  on 
diverse  things";  and  the  words  of  Homer  have  the  same  mean- 
ing: "Such  is  the  mind."  For  all  of  these  ancient  writers  regard 
thought  as  something  somatic,  like  sensation,  and  believe  that 
both  in  sensation  and  thought  like  is  apprehended  by  like,  as 
we  said  in  the  beginning  of  this  treatise.  They  should  at  the 


PSYCHOLOGY  ej 

same  time  have  spoken  of  error,  for  to  animals  this  is  more 
natural  than  truth,  and  their  souls  pass  most  of  their  existence 
in  error.  According  to  this  theory,  as  some  hold,  either  all 
phenomena  must  be  true  or  else  error  consists  in  the  contact  of 
the  unlike,  for  this  is  the  opinion  that  is  opposed  to  the  cogni- 
tion of  like  by  like.  Further,  in  this  case  error  and  knowledge  of 
opposites  seem  to  be  identical.  That  sensation  and  reflexion, 
therefore,  are  not  identical  is  evident.  For  all  animals  share  in 
the  one,  but  few  only  in  the  other.  Neither  is  thought,  in  which 
right  and  wrong  are  determined,  i.e.  right  in  the  sense  of  practi- 
cal judgment,  scientific  knowledge,  and  true  opinion,  and  wrong 
in  the  sense  of  the  opposite  of  these,  —  thought  in  this  significa- 
tion is  not  identical  with  sensation.  For  sensation  when  applied 
to  its  own  peculiar  objects  is  always  true,  and  is  inherent  in  all 
animals;  but  it  is  possible  for  discursive  thought  to  be  false, 
and  it  is  found  in  no  animal  which  is  not  also  endowed  with 
reason.  Imagination,  too,  is  different  from  sensation  and  dis- 
cursive thought.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  true  that  imagination 
is  impossible  without  sensation,  and  conceptual  thought,  in 
turn,  is  impossible  without  imagination.  That  thought  and 
conception,  however,  are  not  one  and  the  same  is  evident.  For 
imagination  is  under  our  control,  and  can  be  stimulated  when 
we  wish  (for  it  is  possible  to  call  up  before  our  eyes  an  imaginary 
object,  as  one  employs  images  in  the  art  of  mnemonics).  Con- 
ception, on  the  other  hand,  is  not  under  our  control.  For  it 
must  be  either  false  or  true.  Furthermore,  when  we  conceive 
that  something  is  terrible  or  fearful,  we  have  at  once  a  corre- 
sponding feeling,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  what  inspires 
courage.  But  in  the  case  of  imagination  we  are  in  the  same  con- 
dition as  if  we  were  to  place  a  terrible  or  a  courage-inspiring 
object  before  us  in  a  picture.  In  conception  itself  there  are 
distinct  forms,  such  as  knowledge,  opinion,  reflexion,  and  their 
opposites,  concerning  whose  different  meanings  we  shall  speak 
later. 

Since  thinking  differs  from  sense-perception,  and  in  one  sig- 
nification appears  to  be  imagination  and  in  another  significa- 
tion conception,  we  must  proceed  to  the  treatment  of  the  latter, 


68  ARISTOTLE 

after  we  have  defined  imagination.  If  imagination  means  the 
power  whereby  what  we  call  a  phantasm  is  awakened  in  us,  and 
if  our  use  of  language  here  is  not  merely  metaphorical,  then 
imagination  is  one  of  those  faculties  or  mental  forces  in  us  by 
virtue  of  which  we  judge  and  are  capable  of  truth  and  error. 
And  these  faculties  include  sensation,  opinion,  scientific  know- 
ledge, and  reasoning.  That  imagination  is  not  to  be  confounded 
with  sense-perception  is  plain  from  the  following  considera- 
tions. Sensation  is  either  a  mere  power  or  a  distinct  act,  like 
sight  and  seeing,  but  imagination  is  present  when  neither  of 
these  conditions  is  realized,  viz.  in  the  phantasms  of  dreams. 
Again,  sensation  is  always  present,  but  this  is  not  true  of  imag- 
ination. If  in  reality  it  were  identical  with  sensation,  then  all 
animals  would  have  imagination.  This  does  not  seem  to  be  the 
fact,  as  we  find  in  the  case  of  the  ant,  the  bee,  and  the  worm. 
Again,  sensations  are  always  true,  while  imaginations  are  for 
the  most  part  false.  In  the  next  place,  we  do  not  say  when  we 
are  accurately  observing  a  sense-object,  that  we  imagine  it  to 
be  a  man.  We  say  this  rather  when  we  do  not  clearly  perceive 
[and  when  the  perception  may  be  true  or  false],  and  as  we 
said  above,  we  see  imaginary  pictures  even  when  our  eyes  are 
closed.  But  neither  is  imagination  one  of  those  faculties  whose 
deliverances  are  always  true,  as  e.g.  scientific  knowledge  and 
reason.  For  imagination  can  also  be  false.  It  remains  to  be  con- 
sidered whether  it  is  opinion,  for  opinion  can  be  either  true  or 
false.  Opinion,  however,  is  followed  by  belief  (for  no  man  can 
have  an  opinion  and  not  believe  what  he  opines),  and  none  of 
the  lower  animals  possesses  belief,  although  imagination  is  found 
in  many  of  them.  [Again,  every  opinion  is  followed  by  belief,  as 
belief  is  followed  by  persuasion,  and  persuasion  by  reason.  Now, 
some  of  the  lower  animals  have  imagination,  but  none  of  them 
have  reason.]  It  is  plain,  then,  that  imagination  is  not  opinion 
combined  with  sensation,  nor  mediated  by  sensation,  nor  a  com- 
plex of  opinion  and  sensation,  and,  for  the  same  reason,  it  is  clear 
that  opinion  has  for  its  object  nothing  else  than  what  sensation 
has  for  its  object.  I  mean  e.g.  that  imagination  is  the  complex 
of  an  opinion  of  whiteness  and  a  sensation  of  whiteness,  and  not 


PSYCHOLOGY  ^  69 

the  complex  of  an  opinion  of  goodness  and  a  sensation  of  white- 
ness. To  imagine,  therefore,  is  to  opine  what,  strictly  regarded, 
is  a  sense-object.  Again,  there  are  false  appearances  when  we 
have  correct  conceptions,  as  e.g.  in  the  case  of  the  sun  which 
appears  to  be  a  foot  in  diameter,  whereas  we  believe  it  to  be 
larger  than  the  inhabited  earth.  The  consequence  is  that  we 
must  either  have  thrown  aside  our  true  opinion  which  we  held, 
without  the  thing  having  changed  and  without  any  forgetful- 
ness  or  change  of  conviction  on  our  part;  or  if  one  still  holds  it, 
it  is  necessary  that  the  same  opinion  be  both  true  and  false. 
But  an  opinion  has  become  false  in  a  case  where  an  object,  with- 
out our  knowing  it,  has  changed.  Imagination,  then,  is  not  one 
of  these  faculties  nor  a  derivative  of  them. 

Since  one  thing  when  moved  can  communicate  motion  to 
another,  and  since  imagination  is  held  to  be  a  form  of  motion 
which  does  not  come  into  existence  without  sense-perception, 
but  only  in  sentient  creatures  or  in  reference  to  objects  to  which 
sensation  applies,  and  since  motion  is  produced  by  the  action 
of  sense-perception,  and  this  motion  must  be  equal  to  the 
strength  of  the  sensation,  one  can  afhrm  that  the  motion  of 
imagination  would  never  be  possible  without  sensation  nor  could 
it  take  place  in  non-sentient  creatures.  Further,  the  one  who 
experiences  it  can  act  and  be  acted  upon  in  many  ways,  and 
one's  experiences  may  be  true  or  false.  This  truth  or  falsehood 
is  due  to  the  following  causes.  Sense-perception  is  true  when  it 
concerns  its  own  peculiar  objects;  at  any  rate,  there  is  involved 
in  this  case,  the  least  possible  amount  of  error.  In  the  second 
place,  sense-perception  may  concern  the  accidental,  and  here 
error  begins  to  be  possible.  One  is  not  mistaken  in  saying  that 
a  thing  is  white,  but  if  one  says  the  white  object  is  this  or  that 
particular  thing,  error  arises.  In  the  third  place,  error  applies 
to  common  properties  and  concomitants  of  the  accidental,  in 
which  peculiar  properties  are  involved.  I  mean  e.g.  motion  and 
magnitude,  which  are  accidental  properties  of  sensible  objects, 
and  concerning  which  we  are  especially  liable  to  error  in  sense- 
perception.  The  motion  set  up  by  the  activity  of  sensation 
will  differ  in  terms  of  the  three  following  forms  of  sense-percep- 


70  ARISTOTLE 

tion.  The  first  movement  is  when  the  sense-perception  con- 
tinues present,  and  this  is  true;  the  other  two  may  be  false 
whether  the  object  is  present  or  withdrawn,  but  are  especially 
liable  to  error  when  the  sense-object  is  removed. 

If  imagination  contains  nothing  but  the  elements  named  and 
is  what  we  have  described  it  to  be,  it  would  be  a  movement 
stimulated  by  actualized  sense-perception.  Since  sight  is  our 
principal  sense,  imagination  has  derived  its  name  from  light, 
because  sight  is  impossible  without  Hght.  Because  images  per- 
sist and  resemble  sense-perceptions,  animals  regulate  their 
actions  to  a  large  degree  by  imagination,  some  of  them  because 
they  are  incapable  of  reason,  as  the  lower  brutes,  others  because 
reason  is  sometimes  veiled  by  passion,  disease,  or  sleep,  as  is  the 
case  amongst  men.  Concerning  imagination,  what  its  nature 
is  and  what  end  it  subserves,  let  the  foregoing  suflSce. 

CHAPTER  IV.     TEE   THEORY   OF   REASON 

Regarding  that  part  of  the  soul  by  virtue  of  which  one 
knows  and  reflects,  whether  it  be  a  distinct  part  or  whether  it 
be  distinct  only  notionally  and  not  really,  we  have  now  to  con- 
sider what  its  differential  mark  is,  and  by  what  process  thinking 
is  exercised.  If  thinking  is  like  sense-perception,  it  would  be 
either  a  kind  of  impression  made  by  the  object  of  cognition  or 
some  analogous  process.  It  must,  then,  be  impassive  and  yet 
receptive  of  the  form,  and  in  its  nature  potentially  like  to  the 
object  of  thought  without  being  this  object;  and  as  the  sense- 
organ  is  related  to  the  object  of  sense,  in  a  similar  way  thought 
must  be  related  to  the  object  of  thought.  Reason  must,  there- 
fore, be  unmixed,  as  Anaxagoras  says,  since  it  thinks  every- 
thing, in  order  that  it  may  rule,  i.e.  in  order  that  it  may  know. 
It  is  the  nature  of  thought  to  preclude  and  restrain  the  element 
that  is  foreign  and  adjacently  seen.  Its  nature  is,  therefore, 
exclusively  potentiality.  What  we  call  reason  in  the  soul  (by 
reason  I  mean  the  instrument  by  which  the  soul  thinks  and 
forms  conceptions)  is,  prior  to  the  exercise  of  thought,  no  reality 
at  all.  It  is,  therefore,  wrong  to  suppose  that  reason  itself  is 


PSYCHOLOGY  ,      71 

mixed  with  the  body.  For  in  that  case  it  would  have  certain 
qualitative  distinctions  such  as  warm  or  cold,  or  it  would  be  a 
sort  of  instrument,  like  a  sense-organ.  But  in  point  of  fact  it  is 
nothing  of  the  kind.  Certain  writers  ^  have  happily  called  the 
soul  the  place  of  ideas,  only  this  description  does  not  apply  to 
the  soul  as  a  whole,  but  merely  to  the  power  of  thought,  and 
it  applies  to  ideas  only  in  the  sense  of  potentiality,  and  not 
of  actuality.  It  is  evident  from  the  sense-organ  and  from  the 
nature  of  sensation,  that  the  term  impassivity  is  employed  in 
a  different  meaning  in  sensation  and  in  thinking.  For  sense- 
perception  cannot  take  place  when  the  sense-stimulus  is  exces- 
sive, as  one  does  not  hear  sound  in  the  midst  of  loud  noises, 
neither  can  one  see  nor  smell  in  the  midst  of  excessively  bright 
colours  and  strong  odours.  On  the  other  hand,  when  the  mind 
thinks  a  very  profound  thought,  it  thinks  not  in  a  lesser  but  in  a 
deeper  degree  minor  details.  For  the  power  of  sensation  is  not 
independent  of  the  body,  while  the  mind  is  separable.  When 
reason  becomes  its  several  objects  in  the  sense  in  which  an 
actually  learned  man  is  said  to  be  learned  (and  this  takes  place 
when  he  can  exercise  knowledge  through  his  own  agency),  even 
then  reason  is  in  a  certain  sense  potential,  although  this  poten- 
tiality differs  from  that  which  preceded  learning  and  discovery. 
In  the  latter  case,  potentiality  signifies  the  capacity  of  thinking 
itself. 

There  is  a  difference  between  concrete  magnitude  and  the 
ultimate  nature  of  magnitude,  between  water  and  the  ultimate 
nature  of  water  (the  same  distinction  can  be  applied  to  other 
instances,  though  not  to  all,  for  in  some  cases  they  are  identi- 
cal). Concrete  flesh  and  the  ultimate  nature  of  flesh  one  judges 
either  by  a  different  and  distinct  faculty  or  by  the  same  faculty 
under  differing  conditions.  Flesh  is  not  separate  from  matter, 
but  like  a  snub-nose,  it  is  a  particular  thing  in  a  given  some- 
thing. By  means  of  a  sense-organ  one  discriminates  heat  and 
cold  and  those  qualities  of  which  flesh  is  a  sort  of  register.  On 
the  other  hand,  reason  judges  of  the  essential  nature  of  flesh 
either  by  a  different  and  distinct  faculty,  or  in  the  way  in  which 
1  Plato  and  the  Academy. 


72  ARISTOTLE 

a  bent  line  is  related  to  itself  when  straightened.  We  refer  the 
straight  line  as  we  do  the  snub-nose  to  abstract  entities,  for  they 
are  both  associated  with  the  continuous.  But  the  essential  no- 
tion of  a  thing,  if  straightness  and  the  straight  Hne  are  different 
(and  they  are  two  things),  is  apprehended  by  a  different  power. 
The  mind,  then,  judges  in  the  two  cases  by  means  of  a  differ- 
ent power  or  by  means  of  a  power  differently  conditioned.  In  a 
word,  therefore,  as  there  are  things  abstracted  from  matter,  so 
there  are  things  that  concern  the  reason.  If  the  mind  is  simple 
and  impassive,  and  has  nothing  in  common  with  anything  else, 
as  Anaxagoras  ^  says,  and  if  thinking  means  to  be  somehow  im- 
pressed, one  might  ask.  How  will  thought  be  possible?  For  it  is 
only  in  so  far  as  there  is  something  common  to  two  things  that 
the  one  appears  to  act  and  the  other  to  be  acted  upon.  A  further 
question  might  be  raised,  viz.  whether  the  mind  itself  is  the 
object  of  thought.  If  it  is,  mind  will  then  either  be  found  in 
other  things,  unless  it  is  the  object  of  thought  in  some  way 
different  from  other  objects,  and  unless  the  object  of  thought  is 
a  specific  and  single  thing;  else  it  will  have  a  mixed  composition 
which  makes  it  like  other  things,  the  object  of  thought.  Accord- 
ing to  our  former  definition,  'to  be  affected  in  reference  to  a 
common  element,'  means  that  the  mind  is  potentially  the  object 
of  thought,  though  perhaps  not  actually  so  until  thought  takes 
place.  It  must  be  that  the  case  here  is  similar  to  that  of  the  tab- 
let on  which  nothing  has  been  actually  written.  This  is  what 
takes  place  in  the  case  of  mind,  and  it  is  the  object  of  thought 
as  other  things  are.  Where  entities  are  without  matter,  the 
subject  and  object  of  thought  are  identical.  Speculative  thought 
and  the  thing  speculatively  known  are  one  and  the  same.  The 
reason  why  thought  is  not  continuous  must  be  investigated. 
On  the  other  hand,  when  entities  are  material  they  are  severally 
the  object  of  thought  only  potentially;  mind  is  not  an  element 
in  them  (for  reason  is  the  potentiality  of  such  objects  in  abstrac- 
tion from  their  matter),  whereas  it  is  in  the  reason  itself  that 
the  object  of  thought  will  be  found. 

1  In  his  theory  of  sensation  Anaxagoras  says  we  do  not  apprehend  like  by 
like  (Empcdocles),  but  unlike  by  unlike,  e.g.  heat  by  cold. 


PSYCHOLOGY  73 

CHAPTER   V.    ACTIVE  AND  PASSIVE  REASON 

In  the  whole  of  nature  there  is  on  the  one  hand  a  material 
factor  for  every  kind  of  thing  (and  this  is  what  all  things  are  in 
their  potentiality),  and  another  factor  which  is  causative  and 
productive  of  things,  by  virtue  of  its  making  all  objects,  as  art 
stands  related  to  the  matter  it  employs.  These  distinctions 
must  also  hold  good  when  applied  to  the  soul.  Reason  is  of  such 
character  that  on  the  one  hand  it  becomes  all  things,  and  on  the 
other  creates  all  things,  in  this  respect  resembling  a  property 
like  light.  For  light  in  a  certain  sense  converts  potential  into 
actual  colours,  and  reason,  in  the  present  meaning,  is  separate, 
impassive,  and  unmixed,  being  in  its  essential  nature  an  ener- 
gizing force.  Now,  action  is  always  higher  than  passion  and 
causal  force  higher  than  matter.  Actual  knowledge  is  identical 
with  its  object.  Potential  knowledge,  on  the  other  hand,  pre- 
exists in  the  individual ;  regarded  absolutely  it  does  not  so  pre- 
exist. For  mind  does  not  at  one  moment  think  and  at  another 
not.  In  its  separated  state  alone  reason  is  what  it  is,  immortal 
and  eternal.  We  have  no  memory  of  it,  because  this  part  of 
reason  is  impassive.  The  passive  reason,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
perishable,  and  without  it  there  can  be  no  thought. 

CHAPTER   VI.    THOUGHT  AND   TRUTH 

When  thought  is  applied  to  indivisible  terms,  error  does  not 
arise.  Where  error  and  truth  are  both  found  is  just  in  the  com- 
bination of  thoughts  into  a  sort  of  unity.  Empedocles  e.g.  says: 
"Wherefore  the  heads  of  many  creatures  sprang  into  life  with- 
out necks,"  and  later  on  by  the  attraction  of  Friendship  they 
were  joined  together.  So,  too,  these  disjoined  ideas  are  combined 
together  by  the  reason,  as  e.g.  the  ideas  of  the  incommensur- 
able and  the  diagonal.  If  the  ideas  refer  to  the  past  or  to  the 
future,  the  element  of  time  is  added  in  the  mind  and  combined 
with  the  ideas.  Error  is  always  due  to  the  combination.  For 
even  in  the  case  where  one  might  think  the  white  not  to  be  white, 
one  has  made  the  combination  of  the  'not-white.'  It  is  further 


74  ARISTOTLE 

possible  to  apply  disjunction  to  everything.  It  is  not  only  pos- 
sible for  the  statement  'Cleon  is  fair'  to  be  true  or  false,  but 
this  may  be  applied  to  the  past  or  to  the  future.  The  unifying 
principle  is  in  every  case  the  reason.  Since  the  simple  or  indi- 
visible may  be  looked  at  from  two  standpoints,  viz.  either  as 
potentiality  or  as  actuality,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  the 
mind  from  thinking  the  indivisible  when  it  thinks  of  extension 
(which  in  its  actual  state  is  indivisible),  and  when  it  thinks  it  in 
an  indivisible  moment  of  time.  For  divisibility  and  indivisi- 
bility apply  to  time  just  as  they  do  to  length.  It  is,  therefore, 
impossible  to  say  what  the  mind  thinks  in  each  half  of  a  time- 
division.  For  the  half  does  not  exist,  except  in  potentiality,  if 
the  division  has  not  been  made.  But  in  the  act  of  thinking  each 
half  separately,  the  mind  divides  the  time  also,  and  then  the 
time  corresponds  in  its  division  to  the  two  lengths.  If,  however, 
the  mind  thinks  the  object  as  a  whole  composed  of  two  halves, 
it  does  this  also  with  regard  to  time  in  its  relation  to  the  two 
halves. 

That  which  is  not  quantitatively  but  only  notionally  indi- 
visible, the  mind  thinks  in  an  indivisible  time  and  by  an  in- 
divisible power  of  the  soul.  It  does  this,  however,  accidentally 
and  not  in  so  far  as  the  factors  of  thought  and  time  are  divisible, 
but  in  so  far  as  they  are  indivisible.  And  there  is  also  in  these 
cases  an  objective  factor  which  is  indivisible,  although  perhaps 
not  a  separate  entity,  that  gives  a  unity  to  time  and  extension. 
And  this  is  likewise  true  of  everything  that  is  continuous, 
whether  in  time  or  space.  The  point  and  everything  obtained 
by  division,  and  whatever  (like  a  point)  is  no  longer  divisible, 
are  explicable  in  terms  of  privation.  Similar  reasoning  may  be 
applied  to  other  cases,  as  e.g.  the  way  in  which  we  know  evil  or 
black.  For  we  know  them  somehow  or  other  by  means  of  their 
contraries.  But  the  knowing  mind  must  be  these  things  poten- 
tially, and  they  must  be  reduced  to  unity  in  the  mind  itself.  If, 
however,  in  the  case  of  any  causal  principle  there  is  no  opposite, 
then  it  knows  itself,  and  is  in  actuality  and  is  separate.  A  pre- 
dication, as  e.g.  an  affirmation,  asserts  something  of  something 
else,  and  is  in  every  instance  either  true  or  false.  This  does  not 


PSYCHOLOGY  75 

apply  to  the  mind  always,  but  when  the  mind  asserts  what  a 
thing  is  in  its  essential  nature  and  not  what  attaches  to  some- 
thing as  a  predicate,  then  it  is  true.  And  just  as  sight  is  true 
when  it  concerns  its  own  proper  object,  and  on  the  other  hand 
the  opinion  that  a  visible  white  object  is  or  is  not  a  man  may 
not  always  be  true,  so  it  is  with  all  immaterial  entities. 

CHAPTER    VII.     THOUGHT   AND   ITS   OBJECT 

Actual  knowledge  is  identical  with  its  object.  Potential 
knowledge  is  earlier  in  time  in  the  individual,  but  taken  abso- 
lutely it  is  not  earlier  in  time.  For  all  becoming  proceeds  from 
actual  being.  The  sensible  object  appears  to  convert  the  poten- 
tially sensitive  organ  into  an  actually  sensitive  organ.  For  the 
sense-organ  itself  is  not  a£fected,  and  undergoes  no  change. 
That  is  the  reason  why  we  have  here  to  do  with  a  form  of  mo- 
tion different  from  motion  in  the  ordinary  sense.  Motion  was 
defined  as  a  realization  of  the  incomplete,  but  motion,  abso- 
lutely regarded,  is  a  different  kind  of  activity,  viz.  the  activity 
of  the  perfected  thing.  Mere  sense-perception,  then,  is  like  a 
simple  expression  or  a  simple  thought;  when,  however,  the 
sensation  is  pleasant  or  painful,  and  thus  corresponds  to  affir- 
mation or  negation,  the  thing  is  pursued  or  avoided.  To  feel 
pleasure  or  pain  signifies  to  experience  an  activity  in  a  mean 
function  of  the  sense-organ  relative  to  good  or  bad  as  such. 
Avoidance  and  pursuit  in  their  actual  natures  are  identical, 
and  the  appetitive  power  whereby  we  desire  or  pursue  a  thing  is 
not  different  from  the  power  whereby  we  avoid  a  thing.  They 
do  not  differ  from  each  other  or  from  the  sensitive  faculty. 
Only  the  expression  of  their  being  is  different.  Images  are  em- 
ployed by  the  conceptual  reason  as  sense-presentations  are  by 
the  sentient  faculty.  When  the  mind  makes  an  affirmation  or 
negation  touching  the  good  or  bad,  it  avoids  the  one  and  pur- 
sues the  other.  The  soul,  therefore,  never  thinks  without  the 
use  of  images.  As  the  air  produces  such  or  such  an  effect  on  the 
pupil  of  the  eye,  and  the  pupil  in  turn  produces  another  effect 
(the  same  illustration  may  be  applied  to  hearing),  and  yet  the 


76  ARISTOTLE 

ultimate  interpreter  or  medium  of  sensation  is  a  single  power 
whose  being  is  expressed  in  several  ways,  ([so  it  is  with  images 
in  reference  to  thought.])  As  to  the  faculty  by  which  we  dis- 
criminate sweet  and  warm,  although  the  problem  has  been 
mentioned  above,  it  must  be  again  discussed  as  follows.  There 
is  some  unitary  principle,  and  this  unitary  principle  has  the 
character  of  an  ultimate  term.  Its  deliverances  are  reduced 
to  unity  by  means  of  comparison  and  numerical  statement,  and 
related  to  each  other  as  the  outward  things  are  related  to  each 
other.  The  question  as  to  how  the  mind  judges  like  qualities, 
does  not  differ  from  the  question  as  to  how  it  judges  opposite 
qualities  such  as  white  and  black.  Let  A,  the  objectively  white, 
be  related  to  B,  the  objectively  black,  as  the  idea  C  is  related  to 
the  idea  D,  or  it  may  be  stated  conversely.  Now,  if  the  ideas 
CD  attach  to  a  certain  thing,  they  will  be  related  to  each  other 
([in  the  concept])  just  as  AB  are  related  to  each  other,  —  they 
will  form  one  and  the  same  thing,  though  not  identical  in  mode 
of  being;  and  the  former  combination  (CD)  is  analogous  to  the 
latter  (AB).  The  same  reasoning  holds  in  case  one  were  to 
apply  A  to  a  sweet  object,  and  B  to  a  white  object. 

The  reasoning  mind  thinks  its  ideas  in  the  form  of  images; 
and  as  the  mind  determines  the  objects  it  should  pursue  or 
avoid  in  terms  of  these  images,  even  in  the  absence  of  sensation, 
so  it  is  stimulated  to  action  when  occupied  with  them.  For 
example,  when  one  sees  that  a  beacon  is  lighted,  and  observes 
by  means  of  the  'common  sense'  that  it  is  in  motion,  one  com- 
prehends that  an  enemy  is  near.  Sometimes  by  means  of  the 
images  or  ideas  in  the  soul  the  mind  reasons  as  a  seeing  person, 
and  takes  thought  for  the  future  in  terms  of  things  before  one's 
eyes.  When  the  mind  there  in  its  world  of  images  says  that  a 
thing  is  pleasant  or  painful,  here  in  the  world  of  things  it  pur- 
sues or  avoids,  —  in  a  word,  it  acts.  Apart  from  action  the  true 
and  false  belong  to  the  same  category  as  the  good  and  bad. 
They  differ,  however,  in  the  absolute  character  of  the  one  and 
the  relative  character  of  the  other. 

The  mind  thinks  abstractions,  as  e.g.  when  it  thinks  the  snub- 
nosed,  which  in  one  sense  is  a  snub-nose,  and  in  another  sense, 


PSYCHOLOGY  77 

if  one  thinks  it  actually,  one  would  think  it  as  a  curvature  with- 
out the  flesh  in  which  the  curvature  is  found.  So  too  with  math^ 
ematical  figures,  though  in  actuality  not  separate  from  bodies, 
the  mind  thinks  them  as  separated,  when  it  thinks  them..  In  a 
word  the  mind  is  the  thing  when  actually  thinking  it.  Whether 
or  not  it  is  possible  to  think  any  abstraction  when  the  mind  it- 
self is  not  separate  from  magnitude,  must  be  investigated  later. 

CHAPTER    VIII.   IDEAS   AND   IMAGES 

Looking  at  the  main  features  of  what  has  been  said  of  the 
soul,  let  us  reiterate  the  statement  that  it  is  in  a  sense  all  reality. 
For  everything,  whether  sensible  or  intelHgible,  is  psychical ; 
intelligible  objects  are  in  a  sense  knowledge,  and  sensible  reali- 
ties are  sensations.  How  this  is  possible  remains  to  be  investi- 
gated. Conceptual  knowledge  and  sense-perception  are  each 
divided  into  two  minds,  corresponding  to  their  objects;  potential 
knowledge  corresponding  to  potential  objects,  and  actual  to 
actual.  The  sensitive  and  conceptual  powers  of  the  soul  are, 
potentially  regarded,  the  objective  things,  viz.  the  intelligible 
and  the  sensible.  The  soul,  then,  must  be  either  the  things 
themselves  or  their  form.  It  cannot,  of  course,  be  the  things 
themselves.  For  a  stone  is  not  in  the  soul,  but  the  form  or  idea 
of  the  stone.  Consequently,  the  soul  is  to  be  thought  of  as  a 
hand;  for  a  hand  is  the  instrument  of  all  instruments,  and  the 
reason  is  the  form  of  all  forms  and  sensation  in  the  form  of  all 
sensible  realities.  Since,  however,  there  is  no  object,  as  is  sup- 
posed, apart  from  sensible  magnitudes,  it  follows  that  intel- 
ligible objects,  —  I  mean  abstractions,  as  we  call  them,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  qualities  and  conditions  of  the  sensibles, 
on  the  other,  —  must  be  sought  in  the  sense-forms.  For  this 
reason,  also,  it  would  be  impossible  for  one  to  learn  anything 
or  understand  anything  without  sense-perception,  and  when 
one  contemplates  a  thing,  one  is  forced  to  contemplate  it  in 
conjunction  with  an  internal  image.  These  images  are  like 
sense-presentations,  with  the  exception  that  they  are  without 
matter.   Imagination  is  different  from  affirmation  and  nega- 


78  ARISTOTLE 

tion;  for  the  true  and  the  false  are  the  combination  of  ideas  into 
a  judgment.  In  what  way  are  the  primary  ideas  to  be  distin- 
guished from  imagination?  Or  is  it  true  that  these  ideas  are  not 
themselves  images,  yet  they  cannot  be  produced  independently 
of  images? 

CHAPTER  IX.    REASON   AND   DESIRE 

Since  the  soul  of  living  beings  is  defined  in  terms  of  two 
powers,  viz.  the  power  of  judgment  (which  is  the  function  of 
thought)  and  the  power  of  sensation  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
power  of  locomotion  on  the  other,  let  the  above  suffice  for  our 
treatment  of  sensation  and  thought,  and  let  us  now  consider 
the  moving  principle  and  ask  what  part  of  the  soul  it  may  be. 
The  further  question  arises  whether  it  is  an  individual  part  of 
the  soul  and  separate,  either  concretely  or  notionally,  or  whether 
it  is  the  entire  soul.  If  it  is  only  a  part,  we  must  ask  whether 
it  is  a  peculiar  part  and  distinct  from  Ihose  usually  described 
and  already  mentioned  here,  or  whether  it  is  one  of  these.  There 
is  a  difl&culty  at  the  start  concerning  the  sense  in  which  we  are 
to  employ  the  term  'parts'  of  the  soul,  and  concerning  their 
number.  For  in  a  certain  way  they  seem  to  be  innumerable,  and 
not  merely  confined  to  those  which  certain  writers  distinguish, 
viz.  reason,  will,  and  desire,^  and  others  classify  as  rational  and 
irrational  elements.  For  according  to  the  differences  by  which 
they  distinguish  these  parts,  there  seem  to  be  other  parts  that 
are  even  more  distinct  from  each  other  than  these,  concerning 
which  we  have  just  now  spoken,  viz.  the  nutritive  part,  which 
is  found  even  in  plants  as  well  as  in  all  animals,  and  the  sensi- 
tive part,  which  one  could  not  easily  classify  either  as  irrational 
or  as  rational.  Again,  the  power  of  imagination,  which  is  differ- 
ent in  its  mode  of  being  from  the  others,  appears  to  be  a  distinct 
part,  but  in  what  particular  it  is  identical  with  or  different  from 
the  others,  is  very  difficult  to  say,  if  one  is  to  regard  the  parts 
of  the  soul  as  existing  independently  of  one  another.  In  addi- 
tion to  these,  there  is  the  desiderative  part,  which  both  notion- 

*  Plato,  Republic  441  a  (\oyiffTiK6y,  OvtioeiSis,  iTidvixrjriKdv). 


PSYCHOLOGY  79 

ally  and  functionally  might  be  supposed  to  differ  from'  all  the 
other  parts.  And  yet  it  would  be  absurd  to  sever  this  from  the 
others.  For  it  is  in  the  thinking  element  that  volition  arises, 
and  in  the  irrational  element  we  have  desire  and  passion.  But 
if  the  soul  has  three  distinct  parts,  then  the  desiderative  ele- 
ment must  be  in  all  of  them.  Moreover,  the  question  again 
comes  up  which  we  raised  just  now,  viz.  what  is  the  principle  in 
animals  that  produces  locomotion?  One  might  suppose  that  it 
is  the  generative  and  nutritive  powers,  found  in  all  living 
things,  that  produce  the  motion  involved  in  growth  and  decay 
common  to  them  all.  The  subjects  of  inspiration  and  expira- 
tion, sleeping  and  waking,  must  be  investigated  later,  for  all  of 
them  present  great  difi&culties.  But  regarding  locomotion,  we 
must  inquire  what  it  is  that  gives  animals  the  power  of  pro- 
gressive movement.  It  is  evidently  not  the  nutritive  power,  for 
progressive  movement  is  always  towards  some  end  and  accom- 
panied either  by  some  image  or  desire.  For  where  there  is  no 
desire  or  revulsion,  there  is  no  motion,  excepting  where  exter- 
nal force  is  used.  Further,  if  motion  were  due  to  the  nutritive 
power,  plants  would  be  capable  of  locomotion  and  would  have 
some  organic  member  adapted  to  this  motion.  So,  too,  it 
cannot  be  the  sensitive  power  that  is  the  source  of  motion ;  for 
there  are  many  animals  which  have  sensation  and  yet,  through- 
out their  existence,  are  stationary  and  motionless.  If,  then, 
nature  creates  nothing  in  vain,  neither  does  she  omit  anything 
that  is  necessary,  save  in  cases  of  deformed  or  imperfect  beings. 
And  such  animals  as  we  have  in  mind  are  normal  and  not  de- 
formed. A  test  of  perfection  is  the  capacity  to  reproduce,  to 
reach  the  prime  of  growth,  and  then  decline.  Consequently, 
such  animals  should  also  have  organs  of  movement. 

But  neither  is  the  thinking  power  nor  what  we  call  reason  the 
cause  of  animal  motion.  For  the  contemplative  power  does  not 
think  upon  what  is  to  be  carried  into  execution,  neither  has  it 
anything  to  say  touching  what  is  to  be  avoided  or  pursued, 
whereas  motion  always  belongs  to  that  which  pursues  or  avoids 
an  object.  On  the  contrary,  when  one  contemplates  anything, 
the  mind  does  not  bid  one  pursue  or  avoid;  e.g.  the  fearful  or 


8o  ARISTOTLE 

pleasant  is  often  the  subject  of  thought,  but  the  feeling  of  fear 
is  not  suggested;  the  heart,  however,  is  agitated,  or  if  the  feeling 
Is  pleasure,  some  other  organ  is  stirred.  More  than  this,  even 
when  the  reason  commands  and  intelligence  tells  us  to  avoid  or 
to  pursue  a  thing,  motion  does  not  follow,  but  one  acts  accord- 
ing to  one's  desire,  like  an  intemperate  man.  We  observe,  in 
general,  that  the  man  versed  in  medicine  does  not  heal,  because 
it  is  something  other  than  science  that  has  the  power  of  acting 
according  to  the  principles  of  science.  Neither,  again,  is  desire 
the  dominating  principle  in  this  motion;  for  contii;ient  men, 
though  filled  with  desire  and  appetite,  do  not  do  the  things  for 
which  they  lust;  on  the  contrary,  they  follow  reason. 

CHAPTER   X.    PSYCHOLOGY   AND   CONDUCT 

There  are  two  powers  in  the  soul  which  appear  to  be  moving 
forces  —  desire  and  reason,  if  one  classifies  imagination  as  a 
kind  of  reason.  For  many  creatures  follow  their  imaginations 
contrary  to  rational  knowledge,  and  in  animals  other  than 
man  it  is  not  thought  nor  rational  procedure  that  determines 
action,  but  imagination.  Consequently,  both  of  these,  rea- 
son and  desire,  can  produce  locomotion  —  I  mean  here  the 
reason  that  considers  ends  and  is  concerned  with  conduct.  It 
differs  from  the  theoretical  reason  in  having  a  moral  end. 
Every  desire  aims  at  something.  It  is  the  final  end  that  is  the 
initial  cause  in  conduct.  So  that  it  is  reasonable  to  regard 
these  two  principles,  viz.  desire  and  practical  reason,  as  motor 
forces.  For  the  object  of  desire  stimulates  us,  and  through  it 
reason  stimulates  us,  because  the  object  of  desire  is  the  main 
thing  in  the  practical  reason.  Imagination,  too,  when  it  stimu- 
lates us  to  action,  does  not  do  so  independently  of  desire.  The 
one  single  moving  force  is  the  object  of  desire.  For  even  if 
there  were  two  moving  powers,  reason  and  desire,  still  they 
would  produce  movement  in  accordance  with  some  common 
idea.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  reason  does  not  appear  to 
produce  movement  independently  of  desire.  For  volition  is  a 
form  of  desire,  and  when  one  is  prompted  to  action  in  accord- 


PSYCHOLOGY  8i 

ance  with  reason,  the  action  follows  also  in  accordance  with 
volition.  But  desire  prompts  actions  in  violation  of  reason.  For 
appetite  is  a  sort  of  desire.  Reason,  then,  is  in  every  case  right, 
but  desire  and  imagination  may  be  right  or  wrong.  It  is,  there- 
fore, always  the  object  of  desire  that  excites  action,  and  this  is 
either  the  good  or  the  apparent  good  — yet  not  every  good,  but 
only  the  good  in  conduct,  and  this  practical  good  admits  of 
variation. 

Evidently  the  psychical  power  which  excites  to  action  has  the 
nature  of  desire,  as  we  call  it.  In  analysing  the  elements  of  the 
soul,  if  one  analyses  and  distinguishes  them  in  terms  of  powers, 
they  become  very  numerous,  as  e.g.  the  nutritive,  sensitive, 
rational,  deliberative,  and  desiderative.  For  these  differ  from 
each  other  more  than  do  the  desiderative  and  spirited  elements. 
Although  desires  arise  which  are  opposed  to  each  other,  as  is  the 
case  when  reason  and  appetite  are  opposed,  it  happens  only  in 
creatures  endowed  with  a  sense  of  time.  (For  reason,  on  account 
of  the  future,  bids  us  resist,  while  desire  regards  the  present;  the 
momentarily  pleasant  appears  to  it  as  the  absolutely  pleasant 
and  the  absolutely  good,  because  it  does  not  see  the  future.) 
The  moving  principle,  which  is  the  desiderative  faculty  as  such, 
is  specifically  one,  though  numerically  several  motive  forces 
may  be  included  in  it.  The  main  element  here  is  the  object  of 
desire  (for  this  by  being  the  object  of  thought  or  imagination 
excites  movement,  while  it  is  itself  unmoved).  There  are,  then, 
three  terms  to  consider  here:  first  the  motor  power,  secondly 
the  instrument  of  motion,  and  thirdly  the  object  set  in  motion. 
The  motor  power  is  twofold:  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  an  unmoved 
element,  and  on  the  other,  a  moving  and  moved  element.  The 
unmoved  element  is  the  good  to  be  done ;  the  moving  and  moved 
element  is  the  desiderative  faculty  (for  the  desiderative  faculty 
in  so  far  as  it  desires  is  moved,  and  desire  in  process  of  realiza- 
tion is  a  form  of  motion) ;  the  object  which  is  set  in  motion  is 
the  animal.  The  instrument  by  which  desire  effects  motion, 
is  of  course  the  body,  and  consequently  it  must  be  investigated 
where  we  have  to  do  with  functions  which  are  common  to  the 
body  and  the  soul.  One  may,  however,  say  summarily  here  that 


82  ARISTOTLE 

motion  is  organic  in  those  cases  where  beginning  and  end  are 
one,  as  e.g.  in  a  joint.  For  here  the  convex  and  concave  are 
beginning  and  end.  Therefore  the  one  is  at  rest  and  the  other 
in  motion,  and  while  they  are  notionally  distinct,  they  are  con- 
cretely inseparable.  Everything  is  set  in  motion  by  push  or 
pull,  and  there  must  be,  consequently,  a  fixed  point,  as  the  cen- 
tre in  a  circle,  and  this  is  the  initial  point  of  motion.  In  a  word, 
then,  as  we  said  before,  an  animal  in  so  far  as  it  is  capable  of 
desire  is  capable  of  self-movement.  Desire,  however,  is  not 
found  apart  from  imagination,  and  all  imagination  is  either 
rational  or  sensitive  in  origin,  and  the  lower  animals  share  in  it. 

CHAPTER   XI.    THE   MOVING   PRINCIPLE 

We  must  inquire  also  into  the  nature  of  the  moving  princi- 
ple in  those  imperfect  animals  which  possess  only  the  sense  of 
touch.  Is  it  possible  for  them  to  have  imagination  or  desire? 
They  appear  to  feel  pleasure  and  pain,  and  if  these  are  felt  they 
must  necessarily  have  desire  also.  But  how  could  they  have 
imagination?  Or  are  we  to  say  that  just  as  their  movements  are 
indefinite,  so  too  this  power  is  possessed  by  them,  only  it  is 
infinitely  developed.  Imagination  derived  from  sensation  is,  as 
we  said  before,  found  in  the  lower  animals,  but  deliberative 
imagination  is  found  only  in  those  animals  which  are  endowed 
with  reason.  For  whether  one  shall  do  this  or  that  is,  of  course, 
a  matter  of  deliberation,  and  there  must  be  some  single  instru- 
ment of  measurement  at  hand  (for  it  is  the  greater  good  that  is 
to  be  pursued) ,  and  so  the  mind  is  able  to  make  a  single  repre- 
sentation out  of  several  images.  The  ground  for  supposing  that 
animals  do  not  have  opinion  is  that  they  do  not  have  the  faculty 
for  drawing  rational  conclusions,  and  opinion  involves  this. 
Consequently,  their  desire  lacks  the  dehberative  quality. 
Sometimes  the  desire  overpowers  the  deliberative  element  in 
man  and  excites  to  action.  At  other  times  the  will  overpowers 
the  desire,  and  again,  like  a  ball  tossed  to  and  fro,  one  desire 
overpowers  another,  as  in  the  case  of  intemperance.  In  the 
workings  of  nature  the  higher  element  always  has  the  .greater 


PSYCHOLOGY  83 

authority  and  is  the  moving  power.  There  are,  then,  three  forms 
of  movement.  The  faculty  of  conceptual  thought  is  not  moved, 
but  remains  at  rest.  Since  we  have  two  principles  in  conduct, 
on  the  one  hand  the  general  conception  and  notion,  and  on  the 
other  hand  the  particular  notion  (of  which  the  one  says  a  man 
of  such  and  such  a  kind  shall  act  in  such  a  way,  and  the  other 
that  this  particular  man  —  and  I  am  that  particular  man  — 
shall  act  in  a  given  way),  it  is  the  latter  notion  that  incites  to 
action,  but  the  general  one  does  not.  Or  both  of  them  combined 
may  lead  to  action,  although  the  general  notion  is  quiescent, 
and  the  particular  one  active. 


ZENO 

(356-264) 

From    DIOGENES    LAERTIUS'   LIVES 

AND    OPINIONS   OF  EMINENT 

PHILOSOPHERS 

Translated  from  the  Greek^  by 
CHARLES    D.   YONGE 

BOOK    VII.     TEE    PSYCHOLOGY   OF    THE   STOICS 

The  Stoics  have  chosen  to  treat,  in  the  first  place,  of  percep- 
tion and  sensation,  because  the  criterion  by  which  the  truth  of 
facts  is  ascertained  is  a  kind  of  perception,  and  because  the 
judgment  which  expresses  the  belief,  and  the  comprehension, 
and  the  understanding  of  a  thing,  a  judgment  which  precedes 
all  others,  cannot  exist  without  perception.  For  perception 
leads  the  way;  and  then  thought,  finding  vent  in  expressions, 
explains  in  words  the  feelings  which  it  derives  from  perception. 
But  there  is  a  difference  between  <f)avraa-ia  and  ^avraafia.  For 
(fxivTua/jba  is  a  conception  of  the  intellect,  such  as  takes  place  in 
sleep;  but  <f>avraaia  is  an  impression,  rviraxn^,  produced  on 
the  mind,  that  is  to  say,  an  alteration,  aXXoicoat^y  as  Chry- 
sippus  states  in  the  twelfth  book  of  his  treatise  on  the  Soul. 
For  we  must  not  take  this  impression  to  resemble  that  made  by 
a  seal,  since  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  there  should  be 
many  impressions  made  at  the  same  time  on  the  same  thing. 
But  (pavTaa-ia  is  understood  to  be  that  which  is  impressed, 
and  formed,  and  imprinted  by  a  real  object,  according  to  a  real 
object,  in  such  a  way  as  it  could  not  be  by  any  other  than  a  real 
object;  and,  according  to  their  ideas  of  the  (f)avTaaiai^  some  are 

*  From  Aioy^vovs  Aaeprlov  irtpl  /3toy  doy/xdrwu  Kal  diro<f)6ey/j,dTuv  tQv  iv  <pi\- 
wTOiplq.  tv5oKLH7)(T6.uTii)v  pifiXla  S^Ka.  Reprinted  from  Diogenes  Laertius's  Lives  and 
Opinions  of  Eminent  Philosophers,  translated  by  C.  D.  Yonge.    Lond.,  1853. 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS'  LIVES  85 

sensible,  and  some  are  not.  Those  they  call  sensible,  which  are 
derived  by  us  from  some  one  or  more  senses ;  and  those  they 
call  not  sensible,  which  emanate  directly  from  the  thought,  as 
for  instance,  those  which  relate  to  incorporeal  objects,  or  any 
others  which  are  embraced  by  reason.  Again,  those  which  are 
sensible,  are  produced  by  a  real  object,  which  imposes  itself  on 
the  intelligence,  and  compels  its  acquiescence;  and  there  are 
also  some  others,  which  are  simply  apparent,  mere  shadows, 
which  resemble  those  which  are  produced  by  real  objects. 

Again,  these  ^avTaatat  are  divided  into  rational  and  irra- 
tional; those  which  are  rational  belong  to  animals  capable  of 
reason ;  those  which  are  irrational  to  animals  destitute  of  reason. 
Those  which  are  rational  are  thoughts ;  those  which  are  irrational 
have  no  name ;  but  are  again  subdivided  into  artificial  and  not 
artificial.  At  all  events,  an  image  is  contemplated  in  a  different 
light  by  a  man  skilful  in  art,  from  that  in  which  it  is  viewed  by  a 
man  ignorant  of  art. 

By  sensation,  the  Stoics  understand  a  species  of  breath  which 
proceeds  from  the  dominant  portion  of  the  soul  to  the  senses, 
whether  it  be  a  sensible  perception,  or  an  organic  disposition, 
which,  according  to  the  notions  of  some  of  them,  is  crippled 
and  vicious.  They  also  call  sensation  the  energy,  or  active  exer- 
cise, of  the  sense.  According  to  them,  it  is  to  sensation  that  we 
owe  our  comprehension  of  white  and  black,  and  rough  and 
smooth:  from  reason,  that  we  derive  the  notions  which  result ^ 
from  a  demonstration,  those  for  instance  which  have  for  their 
object  the  existence  of  Gods,  and  of  Divine  Providence.  For 
all  our  thoughts  are  formed  either  by  indirect  perception,  or  by 
similarity,  or  analogy,  or  transposition,  or  combination,  or  oppo- 
sition. By  a  direct  perception,  we  perceive  those  things  which 
are  the  objects  of  sense;  by  similarity,  those  which  start  from 
some  point  present  to  our  senses;  as,  for  instance,  we  form  an 
idea  of  Socrates  from  his  likeness.  We  draw  our  conclusions  by 
analogy,  adopting  either  an  increased  idea  of  the  thing,  as  of 
Tityus,  or  the  Cyclops;  or  a  diminished  idea,  as  of  a  pigmy.  So, 
too,  the  idea  of  the  centre  of  the  world  was  one  derived  by 
analogy  from  what  we  perceived  to  be  the  case  of  the  smaller 


86  ZENO 

spheres.  We  use  transposition  when  we  fancy  eyes  in  a  man's 
breast;  combination,  when  we  take  in  the  idea  of  a  Centaur; 
opposition,  when  we  turn  our  thoughts  to  death.  Some  ideas 
we  also  derive  from  comparison,  for  instance,  from  a  compari- 
son of  words  and  places. 

There  is  also  nature;  as  by  nature  we  comprehend  what  is 
just  and  good.  And  privation,  when  for  instance,  we  form  a 
notion  of  a  man  without  hands.  Such  are  the  doctrines  of  the 
Stoics,  on  the  subject  of  phantasia,  and  sensation,  and  thought. 

XXXVII.  They  say  that  the  proper  criterion  of  truth  is  the 
comprehension,  (f>avTaaia ;  that  is  to  say,  one  which  is  derived 
from  a  real  object,  as  Chrysippus  asserts  in  the  twelfth  book  of 
his  Physics;  and  he  is  followed  by  Antipater  and  Apollodorus. 
For  Boethius  leaves  a  great  many  criteria,  such  as  intellect, 
sensation,  appetite,  and  knowledge;  but  Chrysippus  dissents 
from  his  view,  and  in  the  first  book  of  his  treatise  on  Reason, 
says,  that  sensation  and  preconception  are  the  only  criteria. 
And  preconception  is,  according  to  him,  a  comprehensive 
physical  notion  of  general  principles.  But  others  of  the  earlier 
Stoics  admit  right  reason  as  one  criterion  of  the  truth;  for  in- 
stance, this  is  the  opinion  of  Posidonius,  and  is  advanced  by 
him  in  his  essay  on  Criteria. 

LXIIL  The  Stoics  also  say  that  the  mind  is  divisible  into 
eight  parts;  for  that  the  five  organs  of  sensation,  and  the  vocal 
power,  and  the  intellectual  power,  which  is  the  mind  itself,  and 
the  generative  power,  are  all  parts  of  the  mind.  But  by  error, 
there  is  produced  a  perversion  which  operates  on  the  intellect, 
from  which  many  perturbations  arise,  and  many  causes  of  in- 
constancy. And  all  perturbation  is  itself,  according  to  Zeno,  a 
movement  of  the  mind,  or  superfluous  inclination,  which  is 
irrational,  and  contrary  to  nature.  Moreover,  of  the  superior 
class  of  perturbations,  as  Hecaton  says,  in  the  second  book  of 
his  treatise  on  the  Passions,  and  as  Zeno  also  says  in  his  work 
on  the  Passions,  there  are  four  kinds,  grief,  fear,  desire,  and 
pleasure.  And  they  consider  that  these  perturbations  are  judg- 
ments, as  Chrysippus  contends  in  his  work  on  the  Passions;  for 
covetousness  is  an  opinion  that  money  is  a  beautiful  object,  and 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS'  LIVES  87 

in  like  manner  drunkenness  and  intemperance,  and  other  things 
of  the  sort,  are  judgments.  And  grief  they  define  to  be  an  irra- 
tional contraction  of  the  mind,  and  it  is  divided  into  the  follow- 
ing species,  pity,  envy,  emulation,  jealousy,  pain,  perturbation, 
sorrow,  anguish,  confusion.  Pity  is  a  grief  over  some  one,  on  the 
ground  of  his  being  in  undeserved  distress.  Envy  is  a  grief,  at 
the  good  fortune  of  another.  Emulation  is  a  grief  at  that  be- 
longing to  some  one  else,  which  one  desires  one's  self.  Jealousy 
is  a  grief  at  another  also  having  what  one  has  one's  self.  Pain  is 
a  grief  which  weighs  one  down.  Perturbation  is  grief  which 
narrows  one,  and  causes  one  to  feel  in  a  strait.  Sorrow  is  a 
grief  arising  from  deliberate  thought,  which  endures  for  some 
time,  and  gradually  increases.  Anguish  is  a  grief  with  acute 
pain.  Confusion  is  an  irrational  grief,  which  frets  one,  and  pre- 
vents one  from  clearly  discerning  present  circumstances.  But 
fear  is  the  expectation  of  evil ;  and  the  following  feelings  are  all 
classed  under  the  head  of  fear :  apprehension,  hesitation,  shame, 
perplexity,  trepidation,  and  anxiety.  Apprehension  is  a  fear 
which  produces  alarm.  Shame  is  a  fear  of  discredit.  Hesitation 
is  a  fear  of  coming  activity.  Perplexity  is  a  fear,  from  the  im- 
agination of  some  unusual  thing.  Trepidation  is  a  fear  accom- 
panied with  an  oppression  of  the  voice.  Anxiety  is  a  fear  of 
some  uncertain  event. 

Again,  desire  is  an  irrational  appetite;  to  which  head,  the 
following  feelings  are  referrible :  want,  hatred,  contentiousness, 
anger,  love,  enmity,  rage.  Want  is  a  desire  arising  from  our 
not  having  something  or  other,  and  is,  as  it  were,  separated 
from  the  thing,  but  is  still  stretching,  and  attracted  towards  it 
in  vain.  And  hatred  is  a  desire  that  it  should  be  ill  with  some 
one,  accompanied  with  a  certain  continual  increase  and  exten- 
sion. Contentiousness  is  a  certain  desire  accompanied  with 
deliberate  choice.  Anger  is  a  desire  of  revenge,  on  a  person  who 
appears  to  have  injured  one  in  an  unbecoming  way.  Love  is  a 
desire  not  conversant  about  a  virtuous  object,  for  it  is  an  at- 
tempt to  conciliate  affection,  because  of  some  beauty  which  is 
seen.  Enmity  is  a  certain  anger  of  long  duration,  and  full  of 
hatred,  and  it  is  a  watchful  passion,  as  is  shown  in  the  following 
lines:  — 


88  ZENO 

For  though  we  deem  the  short-liv'd  fury  past, 
'T  is  siure  the  mighty  will  revenge  at  last.* 

But  rage  is  anger  at  its  commencement. 

Again,  pleasure  is  an  irrational  elation  of  the  mind  over 
something  which  appears  to  be  desirable;  and  its  different 
species  are  enjoyment,  rejoicing  at  evil,  delight,  and  extrava- 
gant joy.  Enjoyment,  now,  is  a  pleasure  which  charms  the 
mind  through  the  ears.  Rejoicing  at  evil  (i7nxaip€KaKid) ,  is  a 
pleasure  which  arises  at  the  misfortunes  of  others.  Delight 
(repA/ri?)  that  is  to  say  turning  {rpe^L'i),  is  a  certain  turning  of 
the  soul  {TrpoTpoTTij  rt?  "^vxv^),  to  softness.  Extravagant  joy 
is  the  dissolution  of  virtue.  And  as  there  are  said  to  be  some 
sicknesses  (appcoa-rrjfiaTa)  in  the  body,  as,  for  instance,  gout  and 
arthritic  disorders ;  so  too  are  those  diseases  of  the  soul,  such  as 
a  fondness  for  glory,  or  for  pleasure,  and  other  feelings  of  that 
sort.  For  an  appcoarrj/xa  is  a  disease  accompanied  with  weak- 
ness; and  a  disease  is  an  opinion  of  something  which  appears  ex- 
ceedingly desirable.  And,  as  in  the  case  of  the  body,  there  are 
illnesses  to  which  people  are  especially  liable,  such  as  colds  or 
diarrhoea ;  so  also  are  there  propensities  which  the  mind  is  under 
the  influence  of,  such  as  enviousness,  pitifulness,  quarrelsome- 
ness, and  so  on. 

There  are  also  three  good  dispositions  of  the  mind;  joy, 
caution,  and  will.  And  joy  they  say  is  the  opposite  of  pleasure, 
since  it  is  a  rational  elation  of  the  mind;  so  caution  is  the  oppo- 
site of  fear,  being  a  rational  avoidance  of  anything,  for  the  wise 
man  will  never  be  afraid,  but  he  will  act  with  caution;  and  will, 
they  define  as  the  opposite  of  desire,  since  it  is  a  rational  wish. 
As  therefore  some  things  fall  under  the  class  of  the  first  per- 
turbations, in  the  same  manner  do  some  things  fall  under  the 
class  of  the  first  good  dispositions.  And  accordingly,  under  the 
head  of  will,  are  classed  goodwill,  placidity,  salutation,  affec- 
tion ;  and  under  the  head  of  caution  are  ranged  reverence  and 
modesty;  under  the  head  of  joy,  we  speak  of  delight,  mirth, 
and  good  spirits. 

*  Horn.  II.  I.  8i.     Pope's  Version,  1.  105. 


EPICURUS 

(341-270) 

From  DIOGENES  LAERTIUS'  LIVES  AND 

OPINIONS  OF  EMINENT 

PHILOSOPHERS 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by 
CHARLES  D.  YONGE 

BOOK  X.    TEE  EPICUREAN  PSYCHOLOGY 

XX.  Now,  in  the  Canon,  Epicurus  says  that  the  criteria  of 
truth  are  the  senses,  the  preconceptions,  and  the  passions.  But 
the  Epicureans,  in  general,  add  also  the  perceptive  impressions 
of  the  intellect.  And  he  says  the  same  thing  in  his  Abridg- 
ment, which  he  addresses  to  Herodotus,  and  also  in  his  Funda- 
mental Principles.  For,  says  he,  the  senses  are  devoid  of  reason, 
nor  are  they  capable  of  receiving  any  impressions  of  memory. 
For  they  are  not  by  themselves  the  cause  of  any  motion,  and 
when  they  have  received  any  impression  from  any  external 
cause,  then  they  can  add  nothing  to  it,  nor  can  they  subtract 
anything  from  it.  Moreover,  they  are  out  of  the  reach  of  any 
control;  for  one  sensation  cannot  judge  of  another  which  re- 
sembles itself;  for  they  have  all  an  equal  value.  Nor  can  one 
judge  of  another  which  is  different  from  itself;  since  their  ob- 
jects are  not  identical.  In  a  word,  one  sensation  cannot  control 
another,  since  the  effects  of  all  of  them  influence  us  equally. 
Again,  the  reason  cannot  pronounce  on  the  senses;  for  we  have 
already  said  that  all  reasoning  has  the  senses  for  its  foundation. 
Reality  and  the  evidence  of  sensation  establish  the  certainty  of 
the  senses;  for  the  impressions  of  sight  and  hearing  are  just  as 
real,  just  as  evident,  as  pain. 

It  follows  from  these  considerations  that  we  ought  to  judge 
of  things  which  are  obscure  by  their  analogy  to  those  which 


90  EPICURUS 

we  perceive  directly.  In  fact,  every  notion  proceeds  from  the 
senses,  either  directly,  or  in  consequence  of  some  analogy,  or 
proportion,  or  combination.  Reasoning  having  always  a  share 
in  these  last  operations.  The  visions  of  insanity  and  of  sleep 
have  a  real  object,  for  they  act  upon  us;  and  that  which  has  no 
reality  can  produce  no  action. 

XXI.  By  preconception,  the  Epicureans  mean  a  sort  of 
comprehension  as  it  were,  or  right  opinion,  or  notion,  or  general 
idea  which  exists  in  us;  or,  in  other  words,  the  recollection  of  an 
external  object  often  perceived  anteriorly.  Such  for  instance,  is 
this  idea:  "Man  is  a  being  of  such  and  such  a  nature."  At  the 
same  moment  that  we  utter  the  word  man,  we  conceive  the  fig- 
ure of  a  man,  in  virtue  of  a  preconception  which  we  owe  to  the 
preceding  operations  of  the  senses.  Therefore,  the  first  notion 
which  each  word  awakens  in  us  is  a  correct  one;  in  fact,  we  could 
not  seek  for  anything  if  we  had  not  previously  some  notion  of 
it.  To  enable  us  to  affirm  that  what  we  see  at  a  distance  is  a 
horse  or  an  ox,  we  must  have  some  preconception  in  our 
minds  which  makes  us  acquainted  with  the  form  of  a  horse 
and  an  ox.  We  could  not  give  names  to  things,  if  we  had  not 
a  preliminary  notion  of  what  the  things  were. 

XXII.  These  preconceptions  then  furnish  us  with  certainty. 
And  with  respect  to  judgments,  their  certainty  depends  on  our 
referring  them  to  some  previous  notion,  of  itself  certain,  in  virtue 
of  which  we  affirm  such  and  such  a  judgment;  for  instance, 
"  How  do  we  know  whether  this  thing  is  a  man?  " 

The  Epicureans  call  opinion  (Bo^a)  also  supposition  (viro- 
Xrjyjn^).  And  say  that  it  is  at  times  true,  and  at  times  false;  for 
that,  if  it  is  supported  by  testimony,  and  not  contradicted  by 
testimony,  then  it  is  true;  but  if  it  is  not  supported  by  testi- 
mony, and  is  contradicted  by  testimony,  then  it  is  false.  On 
which  account  they  have  introduced  the  expression  of  "  wait- 
ing," as  if,  before  pronouncing  that  a  thing  seen  is  a  tower,  we 
must  wait  till  we  come  near,  and  learn  what  it  looks  like  when 
we  are  near  it. 

XXIII.  They  say  that  there  are  two  passions,  pleasure  and 
pain,  which  affect  everything  alive.  And  that  the  one  is  natural, 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS'  LIVES  91 

and  the  other  foreign  to  our  nature;  with  reference  to  which  all 
objects  of  choice  and  avoidance  are  judged  of.  They  say  also, 
that  there  are  two  kinds  of  investigation;  the  one  about  facts, 
the  other  about  mere  words.  And  this  is  as  far  as  an  element- 
ary sketch  can  go  —  their  doctrine  about  division,  and  about 
the  criterion. 
XXIV.  Let  us  now  go  to  the  letter:  — 

EPICURUS  TO  HERODOTUS,  WISHING  HE  MAY  DO  WELL 

"Moreover,  there  are  images  resembling,  as  far  as  their 
form  goes,  the  solid  bodies  which  we  see,  but  which  differ  mater- 
ially from  them  in  the  thinness  of  their  substance.  In  fact  it  is 
not  impossible  but  that  there  may  be  in  space  some  secretions 
of  this  kind,  and  an  aptitude  to  form  surfaces  without  depth,  and 
of  an  extreme  thinness;  or  else  that  from  the  solids  there  may 
emanate  some  particles  which  preserve  the  connection,  the  dis- 
position, and  the  motion  which  they  had  in  the  body.  I  give 
the  name  of  images  to  these  representations;  and,  indeed,  their 
movement  through  the  vacuum  taking  place,  without  meeting 
any  obstacle  or  hindrance,  perfects  all  imaginable  extent  in  an 
inconceivable  moment  of  time;  for  it  is  the  meeting  of  obsta- 
cles, or  the  absence  of  obstacles,  which  produces  the  rapidity 
or  the  slowness  of  their  motion.  At  all  events,  a  body  in  motion 
does  not  find  itself,  at  any  moment  imaginable,  in  two  places  at 
the  same  time;  that  is  quite  inconceivable.  From  whatever 
point  of  infinity  it  arrives  at  some  appreciable  moment,  and 
whatever  may  be  the  spot  in  its  course  in  which  we  perceive  its 
motion,  it  has  evidently  quitted  that  spot  at  the  moment  of  our 
thought;  for  this  motion  which,  as  we  have  admitted  up  to  this 
point,  encounters  no  obstacle  to  its  rapidity,  is  wholly  in  the 
same  condition  as  that  the  rapidity  of  which  is  diminished  by 
the  shock  of  some  resistance.  x 

"It  is  useful,  also,  to  retain  this  principle,  and  to  know  that 
the  images  have  an  incomparable  thinness;  which  fact  indeed 
is  in  no  respect  contradicted  by  sensible  appearances.  From 
which  it  follows  that  their  rapidity  also  is  incomparable;  for 


92  EPICURUS 

they  find  everywhere  an  easy  passage,  and  besides,  their  infinite 
smallness  causes  them  to  experience  no  shock,  or  at  all  events 
to  experience  but  a  very  slight  one,  while  an  infinite  multitude 
of  elements  very  soon  encounter  some  resistance. 

"One  must  not  forget  that  the  production  of  images  is  simul- 
taneous with  the  thought;  for  from  the  surface  of  the  bodies 
images  of  this  kind  are  continually  flowing  off  in  an  insensible 
manner  indeed,  because  they  are  immediately  replaced.  They 
preserve  for  a  long  time  the  same  disposition,  and  the  same 
arrangement  that  the  atoms  do  in  the  solid  body,  although,  not- 
withstanding, their  form  may  be  sometimes  altered.  The  direct 
production  of  images  in  space  is  equally  instantaneous,  because 
these  images  are  only  light  substances  destitute  of  depth. 

"But  there  are  other  manners  in  which  natures  of  this  kind 
are  produced;  for  there  is  nothing  in  all  this  which  at  all  contra- 
dicts the  senses,  if  one  only  considers  in  what  way  the  senses 
are  exercised,  and  if  one  is  inclined  to  explain  the  relation 
which  is  established  between  external  objects  and  ourselves. 
Also,  one  must  admit  that  something  passes  from  external 
objects  into  us  in  order  to  produce  in  us  sight  and  the  knowledge 
of  forms;  for  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  that  external  objects  can 
affect  us  through  the  medium  of  the  air  which  is  between  us 
and  them,  or  by  means  of  rays,  whatever  emissions  proceed 
from  us  to  them,  so  as  to  give  us  an  impression  of  their  form  and 
colour.  This  phenomenon,  on  the  contrary,  is  perfectly  ex- 
plained, if  we  admit  that  certain  images  of  the  same  colour,  of 
the  same  shape,  and  of  a  proportionate  magnitude  pass  from 
these  objects  to  us,  and  so  arrive  at  being  seen  and  compre- 
hended. These  images  are  animated  by  an  exceeding  rapidity, 
and,  as  on  the  other  side,  the  solid  object  forming  a  compact 
mass,  and  comprising  a  vast  quantity  of  atoms,  emits  always 
the  same  quantity  of  particles,  the  vision  is  continued,  and  only 
produces  in  us  one  single  perception  which  preserves  always  the 
same  relation  to  the  object.  Every  conception,  every  sensible 
perception  which  bears  upon  the  form  or  the  other  attributes 
of  these  images,  is  only  the  same  form  of  the  solid  perceived 
directly,  either  in  virtue  of  a  sort  of  actual  and  continued  con- 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS'  LIVES  93 

densation  of  the  image,  or  in  consequence  of  the  traces  which 
it  has  left  in  us. 

"Error  and  false  judgments  always  depend  upon  the  suppo- 
sition that  a  preconceived  idea  will  be  confirmed,  or  at  all 
events  will  not  be  overturned,  by  evidence.  Then,  when  it  is 
not  confirmed,  we  form  our  judgment  in  virtue  of  a  sort  of 
initiation  of  the  thoughts  connected,  it  is  true  with  the  per- 
ception, and  with  a  direct  representation;  but  still  connected 
also  with  a  conception  peculiar  to  ourselves,  which  is  the  parent 
of  error.  In  fact  the  representations  which  intelligence  reflects 
like  a  mirror,  whether  one  perceives  them  in  a  dream,  or  by  any 
other  conceptions  of  the  intellect,  or  of  any  other  of  the  criteria, 
can  never  resemble  the  objects  that  one  calls  real  and  true,  un- 
less there  were  objects  of  this  kind  perceived  directly.  And,  on 
the  other  side,  error  could  not  be  possible,  if  we  did  not  receive 
some  other  motion  also,  a  sort  of  initiative  of  intelligence  con- 
nected; it  is  true  with  direct  representation,  but  going  beyond 
that  representative.  These  conceptions  being  connected  with 
the  direct  perception  which  produces  the  representation,  but 
going  beyond  it,  in  consequence  of  a  motion  peculiar  to  the 
individual  thought,  produces  error  when  it  is  not  confirmed  by 
evidence,  or  when  it  is  contradicted  by  evidence;  but  when  it  is 
confirmed,  or  when  it  is  not  contradicted  by  evidence,  then  it 
produces  truth. 

"We  must  carefully  preserve  these  principles  in  order  not  to 
reject  the  authority  of  the  faculties  which  perceive  truth  di- 
rectly; and  not,  on  the  other  hand,  to  allow  what  is  false  to  be 
established  with  equal  firmness,  so  as  to  throw  everything  into 
confusion. 

"Let  us  now  return  to  the  study  of  the  affections,  and  of  the 
sensations;  for  this  will  be  the  best  method  of  proving  that  the 
soul  is  a  bodily  substance  composed  of  slight  particles,  diffused 
over  all  the  members  of  the  body,  and  presenting  a  great  anal- 
ogy to  a  sort  of  spirit,  having  an  admixture  of  heat,  resembling 
at  one  time  one,  and  at  another  time  the  other  of  those  two 
principles.  There  exists  in  it  a  special  part,  endowed  with  an 


94  EPICURUS 

extreme  mobility,  in  consequence  of  the  exceeding  slightness  of 
the  elements  which  compose  it,  and  also  in  reference  to  its 
more  immediate  sympathy  with  the  rest  of  the  body.  That  it  is 
which  the  faculties  of  the  soul  sufficiently  prove,  and  the  pas- 
sions, and  the  mobility  of  its  nature,  and  the  thoughts,  and,  in  a 
word,  everything,  the  privation  of  which  is  death.  We  must 
admit  that  it  is  in  the  soul  most  especially  that  the  principle 
of  sensation  resides.  At  the  same  time,  it  would  not  possess 
this  power  if  it  were  not  enveloped  by  the  rest  of  the  body  which 
communicates  it  to  it,  and  in  its  turn  receives  it  from  it;  but 
only  in  a  certain  measure;  for  there  are  certain  affections  of  the 
soul  of  which  it  is  not  capable. 

"It  is  on  that  account  that,  when  the  soul  departs,  the  body 
is  no  longer  possessed  of  sensation;  for  it  has  not  this  power, 
(that  of  sensation  namely)  in  itself;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
this  power  can  only  manifest  itself  in  the  soul  through  the 
medium  of  the  body.  The  soul,  reflecting  the  manifestations 
which  are  accomplished  in  the  substance  which  environs  it, 
realises  in  itself,  in  a  virtue  or  power  which  belongs  to  it,  the 
sensible  affections,  and  immediately  communicates  them  to  the 
body  in  virtue  of  the  reciprocal  bonds  of  sympathy  which  unite 
it  to  the  body;  that  is  the  reason  why  the  destruction  of  a  part 
of  the  body  does  not  draw  after  it  a  cessation  of  all  feeling  in 
the  soul  while  it  resides  in  the  body,  provided  that  the  senses 
still  preserve  some  energy;  although,  nevertheless,  the  disso- 
lution of  the  corporeal  covering,  or  even  of  any  one  of  its  por- 
tions, may  sometimes  bring  on  with  it  the  destruction  of  the 
soul. 

"The  rest  of  the  body,  on  the  other  hand,  even  when  it  re- 
mains, either  as  a  whole,  or  in  any  part,  loses  all  feeling  by  the 
dispersion  of  that  aggregate  of  atoms,  whatever  it  may  be,  that 
forms  the  soul.  When  the  entire  combination  of  the  body  is 
dissolved,  then  the  soul  too  is  dissolved,  and  ceases  to  retain 
those  faculties  which  were  previously  inherent  in  it,  and  espe- 
cially the  power  of  motion;  so  that  sensation  perishes  equally 
as  far  as  the  soul  is  concerned;  for  it  is  impossible  to  imagine 
that  it  still  feels,  from  the  moment  when  it  is  no  longer  in  the 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS'  LIVES  95 

same  conditions  of  existence,  and  no  longer  possesses  the  same 
movements  of  existence  in  reference  to  the  same  organic  sys- 
tem; from  the  moment,  in  short,  when  the  things  which  cover 
and  surround  it  are  no  longer  such,  that  it  retains  in  them  the 
same  movements  as  before. 

(Epicurus  expresses  the  same  ideas  in  other  works,  and  adds 
that  the  soul  is  composed  of  atoms  of  the  most  perfect  light- 
ness and  roundness;  atoms  wholly  different  from  those  of  fire. 
He  distinguishes  in  it  the  irrational  part  which  is  diffused  over 
the  whole  body,  from  the  rational  part  which  has  its  seat  in 
the  chest,  as  is  proved  by  the  emotions  of  fear  and  joy.  He 
adds  that  sleep  is  produced  when  the  parts  of  the  soul  diffused 
over  the  whole  of  the  body  concentre  themselves,  or  when  they 
disperse  and  escape  by  the  pores  of  the  body;  for  particles  ema- 
nate from  all  bodies.) 

"It  must  also  be  observed,  that  I  use  the  word  incorporeal 
(aa-Qiixaro^)  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  word,  to  express 
that  which  is  in  itself  conceived  as  such.  Now,  nothing  can 
be  conceived  in  itself  as  incorporeal  except  the  vacuum;  but 
the  vacuum  cannot  be  either  passive  or  active;  it  is  only  the 
condition  and  the  place  of  movement.  Accordingly,  they  who 
pretend  that  the  soul  is  incorporeal,  utter  words  destitute  of 
sense;  for,  if  it  had  this  character,  it  would  not  be  able  either 
to  do  or  to  suffer  anything;  but,  as  it  is,  we  see  plainly  enough 
that  it  is  liable  to  both  these  circumstances. 

"Let  us  then  apply  all  these  reasonings  to  the  affections  and 
sensations,  recollecting  the  ideas  which  we  laid  down  at  the 
beginning,  and  then  we  shall  see  clearly  that  these  general 
principles  contain  an  exact  solution  of  all  the  particular  cases. 

"  As  to  forms,  and  hues,  and  magnitudes,  and  weight,  and  the 
other  qualities  which  one  looks  upon  as  attributes,  whether  it 
be  of  every  body,  or  of  those  bodies  only  which  are  visible  and 
perceived  by  the  senses,  this  is  the  point  of  view  under  which 
they  ought  to  be  considered :  they  are  not  particular  sub- 
stances, having  a  peculiar  existence  of  their  own,  for  that  can- 
not be  conceived;  nor  can  one  say  any  more  that  they  have  no 
reality  at  all.  They  are  not  incorporeal  substances  inherent  in 


96  EPICURUS 

the  body,  nor  are  they  parts  of  the  body.  But  they  constitute 
by  their  union  the  eternal  substance  and  the  essence  of  the  en- 
tire body.  We  must  not  fancy,  however,  that  the  body  is  com- 
posed of  them,  as  an  aggregate  is  formed  of  particles  of  the 
smallest  dimensions  of  atoms  or  magnitudes,  whatever  they 
may  be,  smaller  than  the  compound  body  itself;  they  only  con- 
stitute by  their  union,  I  repeat,  the  eternal  substance  of  the 
body.  Each  of  these  attributes  has  ideas  and  particular  per- 
ceptions which  correspond  to  it;  but  they  cannot  be  perceived 
independently  of  the  whole  subject  taken  entirely;  the  union 
of  all  these  perceptions  forms  the  idea  of  the  body.  Bodies  often 
possess  other  attributes  which  are  not  eternally  inherent  in 
them,  but  which,  nevertheless,  cannot  be  ranged  among  the 
incorporeal  and  invisible  things.  Accordingly,  it  is  sufficient  to 
express  the  general  idea  of  the  movement  of  transference  to  en- 
able us  to  conceive  in  a  moment  certain  distinct  qualities,  and 
those  combined  beings,  which,  being  taken  in  their  totality, 
receive  the  name  of  bodies;  and  the  necessary  and  eternal  at- 
tributes without  which  the  body  cannot  be  conceived. 

"There  are  certain  conceptions  corresponding  to  these  attri- 
butes; but,  nevertheless,  they  cannot  be  known  abstractedly, 
and  independently  of  some  subjects;  and  further,  inasmuch 
as  they  are  not  attributes  necessarily  inherent  in  the  idea  of  a 
body,  one  can  only  conceive  them  in  the  moment  in  which 
they  are  visible;  they  are  realities  nevertheless;  and  one  must 
not  refuse  to  them  an  existence  merely  because  they  have 
neither  the  characteristic  of  the  compound  beings  to  which  we 
give  the  name  of  bodies,  nor  that  of  the  eternal  attributes.  We 
should  be  equally  deceived  if  we  were  to  suppose  that  they  have 
a  separate  and  independent  existence;  for  that  is  true  neither  of 
them  nor  of  the  eternal  attributes.  They  are,  as  one  sees  plainly, 
accidents  of  the  body;  accidents  which  do  not  of  necessity  make 
any  part  of  its  nature;  which  cannot  be  considered  as  indepen- 
dent substances,  but  still  to  each  of  which  sensation  gives  the 
peculiar  character  under  which  it  appears  to  us." 


TITUS  LUCRETIUS  GARUS 

(95-51) 

ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 

Translated  from  the  Latin  *  by 
H.  A.J.  MUNRO 

BOOK  III.    THE  MIND 


First  then  I  say  that  the  mind  which  we  often  call  the  un- 
derstanding, in  which  dwells  the  directing  and  governing  prin- 
ciple of  life,  is  no  less  part  of  the  man,  than  hand  and  foot  and 
eyes  are  parts  of  the  whole  living  creature.  [Some  however 
affirm]  that  the  sense  of  the  mind  does  not  dwell  in  a  distinct 
part,  but  is  a  certain  vital  state  of  the  body,  which  the  Greeks 
call  harmonia,  because  by  it,  they  say,  we  live  with  sense,  though 
the  understanding  is  in  no  one  part;  Just  as  when  good  health 
is  said  to  belong  to  the  body,  though  yet  it  is  not  any  one  part 
of  the  man  in  health.  In  this  way  they  do  not  assign  a  distinct 
part  to  the  sense  of  the  mind;  in  all  which  they  appear  to  me 
to  be  grievously  at  fault  in  more  ways  than  one.  Oftentimes  the 
body  which  is  visible  to  sight,  is  sick,  while  yet  we  have  pleasure 
in  another  hidden  part;  and  oftentimes  the  case  is  the  very 
reverse,  the  man  who  is  unhappy  in  mind  feeling  pleasure  in  his 
whole  body;  just  as  if,  while  a  sick  man's  foot  is  pained,  the 
head  meanwhile  should  be  in  no  pain  at  all.  Moreover  when 
the  limbs  are  consigned  to  soft  sleep  and  the  burdened  body  lies 
diffused  without  sense,  there  is  yet  a  something  else  in  us  which 
during  that  time  is  moved  in  many  ways  and  admits  into  it  all 

*  From  T.  Lucretii  Cari  De  Rerum  Natura  lihri  sex.  Reprinted  from  Lu- 
cretius' On  the  Nature  oj  Things,  translated  by  H.  A.  J.  Munro,  London, 
1864;  '86. 


98  LUCRETIUS 

the  motions  of  joy  and  unreal  cares  of  the  heart.  Now  that  you 
may  know  that  the  soul  as  well  is  in  the  limbs  and  that  the 
body  is  not  wont  to  have  sense  by  any  harmony,  this  is  a  main 
proof:  when  much  of  the  body  has  been  taken  away,  still  life 
often  stays  in  the  limbs;  and  yet  the  same  life,  when  a  few 
bodies  of  heat  have  been  dispersed  abroad  and  some  air  has 
been  forced  out  through  the  mouth,  abandons  at  once  the  veins 
and  quits  the  bones :  by  this  you  may  perceive  that  all  bodies 
have  not  functions  of  like  importance  nor  alike  uphold  exist- 
ence, but  rather  that  those  seeds  which  constitute  wind  and 
heat,  cause  life  to  stay  in  the  limbs.  Therefore  vital  heat  and 
wind  are  within  the  body  and  abandon  our  frame  at  death. 
Since  then  the  nature  of  the  mind  and  that  of  the  soul  have  been 
proved  to  be  a  part  as  it  were  of  the  man,  surrender  the  name 
of  harmony,  whether  brought  down  to  musicians  from  high 
Helicon,  or  whether  rather  they  have  themselves  taken  it  from 
something  else  and  transferred  it  to  that  thing  which  then  was 
in  need  of  a  distinctive  name;  whatever  it  be,  let  them  keep  it: 
do  you  take  in  the  rest  of  my  precepts. 

Now  I  assert  that  the  mind  and  the  soul  are  kept  together 
in  close  union  and  make  up  a  single  nature,  but  that  the  direct- 
ing principle  which  we  call  mind  and  understanding,  is  the  head 
so  to  speak  and  reigns  paramount  in  the  whole  body.  It  has  a 
fixed  seat  in  the  middle  region  of  the  breast:  here  throb  fear  and 
apprehension,  about  these  spots  dwell  soothing  joys;  therefore 
here  is  the  understanding  or  mind.  All  the  rest  of  the  soul  dis- 
seminated through  the  whole  body  obeys  and  moves  at  the  will 
and  inclination  of  the  mind.  It  by  itself  alone  knows  for  itself, 
rejoices  for  itself,  at  times  when  the  impression  does  not  move 
either  soul  or  body  together  with  it.  And  as  when  some  part 
of  us,  the  head  or  the  eye,  suffers  from  an  attack  of  pain,  we  do 
not  feel  the  anguish  at  the  same  time  over  the  whole  body,  thus 
the  mind  sometimes  suffers  pain  by  itself  or  is  inspirited  with 
joy,  when  all  the  rest  of  the  soul  throughout  the  limbs  and 
frame  is  stirred  by  no  novel  sensation.  But  when  the  mind  is 
excited  by  some  more  vehement  apprehension,  we  see  the  whole 
soul  feel  in  unison  through  all  the  limbs,  sweats  and  paleness 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS  99 

spread  over  the  whole  body,  the  tongue  falter,  the  voice  die 
away,  a  mist  cover  the  eyes,  the  ears  ring,  the  limbs  sink  un- 
der one;  in  short  we  often  see  men  drop  down  from  terror  of 
mind;  so  that  anybody  may  easily  perceive  from  this  that  the 
soul  is  closely  united  with  the  mind,  and,  when  it  has  been 
smitten  by  the  influence  of  the  mind,  forthwith  pushes  and 
strikes  the  body. 

This  same  principle  teaches  that  the  nature  of  the  mind  and 
soul  is  bodily;  for  when  it  is  seen  to  push  the  limbs,  rouse  the 
body  from  sleep,  and  alter  the  countenance  and  guide  and  turn 
about  the  whole  man,  and  when  we  see  that  none  of  these 
effects  can  take  place  without  touch  nor  touch  without  body, 
must  we  not  admit  that  the  mind  and  the  soul  are  of  a  bodily 
nature?  Again  you  perceive  that  our  mind  in  our  body  suffers 
together  with  the  body  and  feels  in  unison  with  it.  When  a 
weapon  with  a  shudder-causing  force  has  been  driven  in  and  has 
laid  bare  bones  and  sinews  within  the  body,  if  it  does  not  take 
life,  yet  there  ensues  a  faintness  and  a  lazy  sinking  to  the 
ground  and  on  the  ground  the  turmoil  of  mind  which  arises,  and 
sometimes  a  kind  of  undecided  inclination  to  get  up.  Therefore 
the  nature  of  the  mind  must  be  bodily,  since  it  suffers  from 
bodily  weapons  and  blows. 

I  will  now  go  on  to  explain  in  my  verses  of  what  kind  of  body 
the  mind  consists  and  out  of  what  it  is  formed.  First  of  all  I  say 
that  it  is  extremely  fine  and  formed  of  exceedingly  minute 
bodies.  That  this  is  so  you  may,  if  you  please  to  attend,  clearly 
perceive  from  what  follows:  nothing  that  is  seen  takes  place 
with  a  velocity  equal  to  that  of  the  mind  when  it  starts  some 
suggestion  and  actually  sets  it  agoing;  the  mind  therefore  is 
stirred  with  greater  rapidity  than  any  of  the  things  whose  na- 
ture stands  out  visible  to  sight.  But  that  which  is  so  passing 
nimble,  must  consist  of  seeds  exceedingly  round  and  exceed- 
ingly minute,  in  order  to  be  stirred  and  set  in  motion  by  a  small 
moving  power.  Thus  water  is  moved  and  heaves  by  ever  so 
small  a  force,  formed  as  it  is  of  small  particles  apt  to  roll.  But 
on  the  other  hand  the  nature  of  honey  is  more  sticky,  its  liquid 
more  sluggish  and  its  movement  more  dilatory;  for  the  whole 


loo  LUCRETIUS 

mass  of  matter  coheres  more  closely,  because  sure  enough  it  is 
made  of  bodies  not  so  smooth,  fine  and  round.  A  breeze  how- 
ever gentle  and  light  can  force,  as  you  may  see,  a  high  heap  of 
poppy  seed  to  be  blown  away  from  the  top  downwards ;  but  on 
the  other  hand  eurus  itself  cannot  move  a  heap  of  stones. 
Therefore  bodies  possess  a  power  of  moving  in  proportion  to 
their  smallness  and  smoothness;  and  on  the  other  hand  the 
greater  weight  and  roughness  bodies  prove  to  have,  the  more 
stable  they  are.  Since  then  the  nature  of  the  mind  has  been 
found  to  be  eminently  easy  to  move,  it  must  consist  of  bodies 
exceedingly  small,  smooth  and  round.  The  knowledge  of  which 
fact,  my  good  friend,  will  on  many  accounts  prove  useful  and 
be  serviceable  to  you.  The  following  fact  too  likewise  demon- 
strates how  fine  the  texture  is  of  which  its  nature  is  composed, 
and  how  small  the  room  is  in  which  it  can  be  contained,  could  it 
only  be  collected  into  one  mass :  soon  as  the  untroubled  sleep  of 
death  has  gotten  hold  of  a  man  and  the  nature  of  the  mind  and 
soul  has  withdrawn,  you  can  perceive  then  no  diminution  of  the 
entire  body  either  in  appearance  or  weight:  death  makes  all 
good  save  the  vital  sense  and  heat.  Therefore  the  whole  soul 
must  consist  of  very  small  seeds  and  be  inwoven  through  veins 
and  flesh  and  sinews;  inasmuch  as,  after  it  has  all  withdrawn 
from  the  whole  body,  the  exterior  contour  of  the  limbs  preserves 
itself  entire  and  not  a  tittle  of  the  weight  is  lost.  Just  in  the 
same  way  when  the  flavour  of  wine  is  gone  or  when  the  delicious 
aroma  of  a  perfume  has  been  dispersed  into  the  air  or  when  the 
savour  has  left  some  body,  yet  the  thing  itself  does  not  there- 
fore look  smaller  to  the  eye,  nor  does  aught  seem  to  have  been 
taken  from  the  weight,  because  sure  enough  many  minute  seeds 
make  up  the  savours  and  the  odour  in  the  whole  body  of  the 
several  things.  Therefore,  again  and  again  I  say,  you  are  to 
know  that  the  nature  of  the  mind  and  the  soul  has  been  formed 
of  exceedingly  minute  seeds,  since  at  its  departure  it  takes  away 
none  of  the  weight. 

We  are  not  however  to  suppose  that  this  nature  is  single. 
For  a  certain  subtle  spirit  mixed  with  heat  quits  men  at  death, 
and  then  the  heat  draws  air  along  with  it ;  there  being  no  heat 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS         loi 

which  has  not  air  too  mixed  with  it:  for  since  its  nature  is  rare, 
many  first-beginnings  of  air  must  move  about  through  it.  Thus 
the  nature  of  the  mind  is  proved  to  be  threefold ;  and  yet  these 
things  all  together  are  not  sufficient  to  produce  sense ;  since  the 
fact  of  the  case  does  not  admit  that  any  of  these  can  produce 
sense-giving  motions  and  the  thoughts  which  a  man  turns  over 
in  mind.  Thus  some  fourth  nature  too  must  be  added  to  these: 
it  is  altogether  without  name;  than  it  nothing  exists  more  nim- 
ble or  more  fine,  or  of  smaller  or  smoother  elements:  it  first 
transmits  the  sense-giving  motions  through  the  frame;  for  it  is 
first  stirred,  made  up  as  it  is  of  small  particles;  next  the  heat 
and  the  unseen  force  of  the  spirit  receive  the  motions,  then  the 
air;  then  all  things  are  set  in  action,  the  blood  is  stirred,  every 
part  of  the  flesh  is  filled  with  sensation ;  last  of  all  the  feel- 
ing is  transmitted  to  the  bones  and  marrow,  whether  it  be  one 
of  pleasure  or  an  opposite  excitement.  No  pain  however  can 
lightly  pierce  thus  far  nor  any  sharp  malady  make  its  way  in, 
without  all  things  being  so  thoroughly  disordered  that  no  room 
is  left  for  Hfe  and  the  parts  of  the  soul  fly  abroad  through  all 
the  pores  of  the  body.  But  commonly  a  stop  is  put  to  these 
motions  on  the  surface  as  it  were  of  the  body:  for  this  reason 
we  are  able  to  retain  life. 

Now  though  I  would  fain  explain  in  what  way  these  are 
mixed  up  together,  by  what  means  united,  when  they  exert 
their  powers,  the  poverty  of  my  native  speech  deters  me  sorely 
against  my  will:  yet  will  I  touch  upon  them  and  in  summary 
fashion  to  the  best  of  my  ability:  the  first-beginnings  by  their 
mutual  motions  are  interlaced  in  such  a  way  that  none  of  them 
can  be  separated  by  itself,  nor  can  the  function  of  any  go  on 
divided  from  the  rest  by  any  interval;  but  they  are  so  to  say  the 
several  powers  of  one  body.  Even  so  in  any  flesh  of  living  crea- 
ture you  please  without  exception  there  is  smell  and  some 
colour  and  a  savour,  and  yet  out  of  all  these  is  made  up  one 
single  bulk  of  body.  Thus  the  heat  and  the  air  and  the  unseen 
power  of  the  spirit  mixed  together  produce  a  single  nature,  to- 
gether with  that  nimble  force  which  transmits  to  them  from 
itself  the  origin  of  motion;  by  which  means  sense-giving  motion 


102  LUCRETIUS 

first  takes  its  rise  through  the  fleshly  frame.  For  this  nature 
lurks  secreted  in  its  inmost  depths,  and  nothing  in  our  body 
is  farther  beneath  all  ken  than  it,  and  more  than  this  it  is  the 
very  soul  of  the  whole  soul.  Just  in  the  same  way  as  the  power 
of  the  mind  and  the  function  of  the  soul  are  latent  in  our  limbs 
and  throughout  our  body,  because  they  are  each  formed  of  small 
and  few  bodies:  even  so,  you  are  to  know,  this  nameless  power 
made  of  minute  bodies  is  concealed  and  is  moreover  the  very- 
soul  so  to  say  of  the  whole  soul,  and  reigns  supreme  in  the  whole 
body.  On  a  Hke  principle  the  spirit  and  air  and  heat  must,  as 
they  exert  their  powers,  be  mixed  up  together  through  .the 
frame,  and  one  must  ever  be  more  out  of  view  or  more  promi- 
nent than  another,  that  a  single  substance  may  be  seen  to  be 
formed  from  the  union  of  all,  lest  the  heat  and  spirit  apart  by 
themselves  and  the  power  of  the  air  apart  by  itself  should  de- 
stroy sense  and  dissipate  it  by  their  disunion;  Thus  the  mind 
possesses  that  heat  which  it  displays  when  it  boils  up  in  anger 
and  fire  flashes  from  the  keen  eyes;  there  is  too  much  cold  spirit 
comrade  of  fear,  which  spreads  a  shivering  over  the  limbs  and 
stirs  the  whole  frame;  yes  and  there  is  also  that  condition  of 
still  air  which  has  place  when  the  breast  is  calm  and  the  looks 
cheerful.  But  they  have  more  of  the  hot  whose  keen  heart  and 
passionate  mind  hghtly  boil  up  in  anger.  Foremost  in  this  class 
comes  the  fierce  violence  of  lions  who  often  as  they  chafe  break 
their  hearts  with  their  roaring  and  cannot  contain  within  their 
breast  the  billows  of  their  rage.  Then  the  chilly  mind  of  stags 
is  fuller  of  the  spirit  and  more  quickly  rouses  through  all  the 
flesh  its  icy  currents  which  cause  a  shivering  motion  to  pass  over 
the  limbs.  But  the  nature  of  oxen  has  its  fife  rather  from  the  still 
air,  and  never  does  the  smoky  torch  of  anger  applied  to  it  stimu- 
late it  too  much,  shedding  over  it  the  shadow  of  murky  gloom, 
nor  is  it  transfixed  and  stiffened  by  the  icy  shafts  of  fear:  it  lies 
between  the  other  two,  stags  and  cruel  lions.  And  thus  it  is  with 
mankind:  however  much  teaching  renders  some  equally  refined, 
it  yet  leaves  behind  those  earliest  traces  of  the  nature  of  each 
mind;  and  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  evil  habits  can  be  so  thor- 
oughly plucked  up  by  the  roots,  that  one  man  shall  not  be  more 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS         103 

prone  than  another  to  keen  anger,  a  second  shall  not  be  some- 
what more  quickly  assailed  by  fear,  a  third  shall  not  take  some 
things  more  meekly  than  is  right.  In  many  other  points  there 
must  be  differences  between  the  varied  natures  of  men  and  the 
tempers  which  follow  upon  these;  though  at  present  I  am  unable 
to  set  forth  the  hidden  causes  of  these  or  to  find  names  enough 
for  the  different  shapes  which  belong  to  the  first-beginnings, 
from  which  shapes  arises  this  diversity  of  things.  What  herein 
I  think  I  may  affirm  is  this :  traces  of  the  different  natures  left 
behind,  which  reason  is  unable  to  expel  from  us,  are  so  exceed- 
ingly slight  that  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  us  from  living  a  life 
worthy  of  gods. 

Well  this  nature  is  contained  by  the  whole  body  and  is  in 
turn  the  body's  guardian  and  the  cause  of  its  existence;  for  the 
two  adhere  together  with  common  roots  and  cannot  it  is  plain 
be  riven  asunder  without  destruction.  Even  as  it  is  not  easy  to 
pluck  the  perfume  out  of  lumps  of  frankincense  without  quite 
destroying  its  nature  as  well;  so  it  is  not  easy  to  withdraw  from 
the  whole  body  the  nature  of  the  mind  and  soul  without  dis- 
solving all  alike.  With  first-beginnings  so  interlaced  from  their 
earliest  birth  are  they  formed  and  gifted  with  a  fife  of  joint 
partnership,  and  it  is  plain  that  the  faculty  of  the  body  and  of 
the  mind  cannot  feel  separately,  each  alone  without  the  other's 
power,  but  sense  is  kindled  throughout  our  flesh  and  blown  into 
flame  between  the  two  by  the  joint  motions  on  the  part  of  both. 
Moreover  the  body  by  itself  is  never  either  begotten  or  grows 
or,  it  is  plain,  continues  to  exist  after  death.  For  not  in  the  way 
that  the  liquid  of  water  often  loses  the  heat  which  has  been 
given  to  it,  yet  is  not  for  that  reason  itself  riven  in  pieces,  but 
remains  unimpaired,  —  not  in  this  way,  I  say,  can  the  aban- 
doned frame  endure  the  separation  of  the  soul,  but  riven  in 
pieces  it  utterly  perishes  and  rots  away.  Thus  the  mutual  con- 
nexions of  body  and  soul  from  the  first  moment  of  their  exist- 
ence learn  the  vital  motions  even  while  hid  in  the  body  and 
womb  of  the  mother,  so  that  no  separation  can  take  place  with- 
out mischief  and  ruin.  Thus  you  may  see  that,  since  the  cause 
of  existence  lies  in  their  joint  action,  their  nature  too  must  be 
a  joint  nature. 


I04  LUCRETIUS 

Furthermore  if  any  one  tries  to  disprove  that  the  body  feels 
and  believes  that  the  soul  mixed  through  the  whole  body  takes 
upon  it  this  motion  which  we  name  sense,  he  combats  even 
manifest  and  undoubted  facts.  For  who  will  ever  bring  for- 
ward any  explanation  of  what  the  body's  feeling  is,  except  that 
which  the  plain  fact  of  the  case  has  itself  given  and  taught  to 
us?  But  when  the  soul  it  is  said  has  departed,  the  body  through- 
out is  without  sense;  yes,  for  it  loses  what  was  not  its  own  pecul- 
iar property  in  life;  ay  and  much  else  it  loses,  before  that  soul 
is  driven  out  of  it. 

Again  to  say  that  the  eyes  can  see  no  object,  but  that  the 
soul  discerns  through  them  as  through  an  open  door,  is  far  from 
easy,  since  their  sense  contradicts  this;  for  this  sense  e'en  draws 
it  and  forces  it  out  to  the  pupil :  nay  often  we  are  unable  to  per- 
ceive shining  things,  because  our  eyes  are  embarrassed  by  the 
lights.  But  this  is  not  the  case  with  doors;  for,  because  we  our- 
selves see,  the  open  doors  do  not  therefore  undergo  any  fatigue. 
Again  if  our  eyes  are  in  the  place  of  doors,  in  that  case  when  the 
eyes  are  removed  the  mind  ought  it  would  seem  to  have  more 
power  of  seeing  things,  after  doors,  jambs  and  all,  have  been 
taken  out  of  the  way. 

And  herein  you  must  by  no  means  adopt  the  opinion  which 
the  revered  judgment  of  the  worthy  manDemocritus  lays  down, 
that  the  first-beginnings  of  body  and  mind  placed  together  in 
successive  layers  come  in  alternate  order  and  so  weave  the  tis- 
sue of  our  limbs.  For  not  only  are  the  elements  of  the  soul 
much  smaller  than  those  of  which  our  body  and  flesh  are 
formed,  but  they  are  also  much  fewer  in  number  and  are  dis- 
seminated merely  in  scanty  number  through  the  frame,  so  that 
you  can  warrant  no  more  than  this:  the  first-beginnings  of  the 
soul  keep  spaces  between  them  at  least  as  great  as  are  the  small- 
est bodies  which,  if  thrown  upon  it,  are  first  able  to  excite  in  our 
body  the  sense-giving  motions.  Thus  at  times  we  do  not  feel 
the  adhesion  of  dust  when  it  settles  on  our  body,  nor  the 
impact  of  chalk  when  it  rests  on  our  limbs,  nor  do  we  feel  a  mist 
at  night  nor  a  spider's  slender  threads  as  they  come  against  us, 
when  we  are  caught  in  its  meshes  in  moving  along,  nor  the  same 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS         105 

insect's  flimsy  web  when  it  has  fallen  on  our  head,  nor  the 
feathers  of  birds  and  down  of  plants  as  it  flies  about,  which 
commonly  from  exceeding  lightness  does  not  lightly  fall,  nor  do 
we  feel  the  tread  of  every  creeping  creature  whatsoever  nor 
each  particular  foot-print  which  gnats  and  the  like  stamp  on  our 
body.  So  very  many  first-beginnings  must  be  stirred  in  us, 
before  the  seeds  of  the  soul  mixed  up  in  our  bodies  feel  that 
these  have  been  disturbed,  and  by  thumping  with  such  spaces 
between  can  clash  unite  and  in  turn  recoil. 

The  mind  has  more  to  do  with  holding  the  fastnesses  of  life 
and  has  more  sovereign  sway  over  it  than  the  power  of  the  soul. 
For  without  the  understanding  and  the  mind  no  part  of  the  soul 
can  maintain  itself  in  the  frame  the  smallest  fraction  of  time, 
but  follows  at  once  in  the  other's  train  and  passes  away  into  the 
air  and  leaves  the  cold  limbs  in  the  chill  of  death.  But  he  abides 
in  life  whose  mind  and  understanding  continue  to  stay  with  him : 
though  the  trunk  is  mangled  with  its  limbs  shorn  all  round 
about  it,  after  the  soul  has  been  taken  away  on  all  sides  and 
been  severed  from  the  limbs  the  trunk  yet  lives  and  inhales  the 
ethereal  airs  of  life.  When  robbed,  if  not  of  the  whole,  yet  of  a 
large  portion  of  the  soul,  it  still  lingers  in  and  cleaves  to  life;  just 
as,  after  the  eye  has  been  lacerated  all  round  if  the  pupil  has 
continued  uninjured,  the  living  power  of  sight  remains,  provided 
always  you  do  not  destroy  the  whole  ball  of  the  eye  and  pare 
close  round  the  pupil  and  leave  only  it ;  for  that  will  not  be  done 
even  to  the  ball  without  the  entire  destruction  of  the  eye.  But 
if  that  middle  portion  of  the  eye,  small  as  it  is,  is  eaten  into,  the 
sight  is  gone  at  once  and  darkness  ensues,  though  a  man  have 
the  bright  ball  quite  unimpaired.  On  such  terms  of  union  soul 
and  mind  are  ever  bound  to  each  other. 


PLOTINUS 

(205  A.D.-270) 

ENNEADES 

Translated  from  the  Greek'^  by 
THOMAS  TAYLOR 

VII.     THE   SOUL 
(rv.  vii) 

I.  Whether  each  [part]  of  us  is  immortal,  or  the  whole 
perishes,  or  one  part  of  us  is  dissipated  and  corrupted,  but  an- 
other part  perpetually  remains,  which  part  is  the  man  himself, 
may  be  learned  by  considering  conformably  to  nature  as  fol- 
lows: Man,  indeed,  is  not  something  simple,  but  there  is  in  him 
a  soul,  and  he  has  also  a  body,  whether  it  is  annexed  to  us  as  an 
instrument,  or  after  some  other  manner.  However  this  may  be, 
it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  nature  and  essence  of  each  of 
these  must  be  thus  divided.  Since  the  body,  therefore,  is  itself  a 
composite,  reason  shows  that  it  cannot  remain  [perpetually  the 
same].  The  senses  likewise  perceive  that  it  is  dissolved  and 
wastes  away,  and  receives  destructions  of  every  sort;  since  each 
of  the  things  inherent  in  it  tends  to  its  own  proper  nature,  and 
one  thing  belonging  to  it  corrupts  another,  and  changes  and 
perishes  into  something  else.  This,  too,  is  especially  the  case 
when  the  soul,  which  causes  the  parts  to  be  in  friendly  union 
with  each  other,  is  not  present  with  the  corporeal  mass.  If  each 
body,  likewise,  is  left  by  itself,  it  will  not  be  one,  since  it  is  cap- 
able of  being  dissolved  into  form  and  matter,  from  which  it  is 
also  necessary  that  simple  bodies  should  have  their  composi- 
tion. Moreover,  as  bodies  they  have  magnitude,  and  conse- 
quently may  be  cut  and  broken  into  the  smallest  parts,  and 

•  From  nXftrrfrou  'EvwdSet.  Reprinted  with  verbal  changes  from  Select  Works 
of  Plotinus,  translated  by  Thomas  Taylor,  London,  1817;  ib.,  1895. 


ENNEADES  107 

for  this  reason  are  subject  to  corruption.  Hence,  if  body  is  a 
part  of  us,  we  are  not  wholly  immortal.  But  if  it  is  an  instru- 
ment [of  the  soul]  it  is  necessary  that  being  given  for  a  certain 
time,  it  should  be  naturally  a  thing  of  this  kind.  That,  however, 
which  is  the  most  principal  thing,  and  the  man  himself,  will  be 
that  with  reference  to  the  body  which  form  is  with  reference  to 
matter,  since  this  according  to  form  is  as  body  to  matter, 
or  according  to  that  which  uses,  the  body  has  the  relation  to  it 
of  an  instrument.  But  in  either  case  the  soul  is  the  man  himself. 

II.  What,  therefore,  is  the  nature  of  the  soul?  If  indeed  it  is  a 
body,  it  is  in  every  respect  capable  of  being  analyzed.  For 
every  body  is  a  composite.  But  if  it  is  not  a  body,  but  of  another 
nature,  that  also  must  be  considered,  either  after  the  same,  or 
after  another  manner.  In  the  first  place,  [if  the  soul  be  corpo- 
real], it  must  be  considered  into  what  this  body  which  they  call 
soul  ought  to  be  analyzed.  For  since  life  is  necessarily  present 
with  soul,  it  is  also  necessary  that  this  body  which  is  supposed 
to  be  soul,  if  it  consists  of  two  or  more  bodies,  should  have  life 
innate  in  both,  or  in  each  of  them ;  or  that  one  of  these  should 
have  Kfe,  but  the  other  not,  or  that  neither  should  be  vital.  If, 
therefore,  life  is  present  with  one  of  them  only,  this  very  thing 
will  be  soul.  Hence,  what  body  will  this  be  which  has  life  from 
itself?  For  fire,  air,  water  and  earth,  are  of  themselves  inani- 
mate; and  with  whichever  of  these  soul  is  present,  the  life 
which  it  uses  is  adventitious.  There  are  not,  however,  any 
other  bodies  besides  these.  And  those  to  whom  it  appears  that 
there  are  other  bodies  which  are  the  elements  of  these,  do  not 
assert  that  they  are  souls,  or  that  they  have  life. 

But  if  it  should  be  said,  that  though  no  one  of  these  bodies 
possesses  life,  yet  the  conjunction  of  them  produces  life,  one 
would  speak  absurdly.  And  if  each  of  them  has  hfe,  one  will  be 
sufficient.  Or  rather,  it  is  impossible  that  a  combination  of 
bodies  should  produce  life,  and  things  void  of  intellect  generate 
intellect.  Moreover,  neither  will  these,  in  whatever  manner 
they  may  say  they  are  mixed,  generate  either  intellect  or  soul. 
Hence,  it  is  necessary  there  should  be  that  which  arranges,  and 
which  is  the  cause  of  the  mixture;  so  that  this  will  have  the 


io8  PLOTINUS. 

order  of  soul.  For  that  which  is  compounded  cannot  be  that 
which  arranges  and  produces  the  mixture.  But  neither  can 
there  be  a  simple  body  in  the  series  of  things,  without  the  exist- 
ence of  soul  in  the  universe;  if  reason  [or  a  productive  principle] 
entering  into  matter,  produces  body.  For  reason  cannot  pro- 
ceed from  any  thing  else  than  from  soul. 

III.  .  .  .  Indeed,  neither  will  there  be  any  body,  if  there  is 
no  psychical  power.  For  body  [perpetually]  flows,  and  its  na- 
ture is  in  [continual]  motion.  The  universe  would  rapidly  perish 
if  all  things  were  bodies;  though  some  one  of  them  should  be 
denominated  "soul."  For  it  would  suffer  the  same  things  as 
other  bodies,  since  there  would  be  one  matter  in  all  of  them. 
Or  rather,  nothing  would  be  generated,  but  all  things  would 
remain  mere  matter,  as  there  would  not  be  any  thing  to  invest 
it  with  form.  Perhaps,  too,  neither  would  matter  have  any  sub- 
sistence whatever.  This  universe  also  would  be  dissolved,  if  it 
is  committed  to  the  connexion  of  body,  and  the  order  of  soul  is 
given  to  body,  as  far  as  the  name  went,  ascribing  it  to  air  and 
dissoluble  spirits,  which  have  not  of  themselves  any  unity.  For 
how  is  it  possible,  since  all  bodies  are  divisible,  that  this  uni- 
verse if  it  is  committed  to  any  one  of  them,  should  not  be  borne 
along  in  a  foolish  and  casual  manner?  What  order  is  there,  or 
reason  or  intellect,  in  a  pneumatic  substance,  which  is  in  want 
of  order  from  soul?  But  if  soul,  indeed,  has  a  subsistence,  all 
these  will  be  subservient  to  it  in  the  composition  of  the  world, 
and  in  the  existence  of  every  animal,  in  that  one  power  arising 
from  another  contributes  to  [the  perfection  of]  the  whole.  If 
soul,  however,  is  not  present  to  the  whole  of  things,  these 
will  neither  have  a  subsistence,  nor  any  arrangement. 

VI.  But  that  if  soul  is  body,  there  would  be  no  sensation,  nor 
thought,  nor  undertaking,  nor  virtue,  nor  any  thing  beautiful  [in 
human  conduct,]  will  be  manifest  from  the  following  considera- 
tions. Whatever  is  able  to  have  a  sensible  perception  of  any 
thing,  ought  itself  to  be  one,  and  to  apprehend  every  thing  by 
one  and  the  same  power.-  This  will  also  be  the  case,  if  many 
things  enter  through  many  organs  of  sense,  or  there  are  many 
qualities  about  one  thing,  and  likewise  when  there  is  a  varie- 


ENNEADES  109 

gated  appearance  such  as  that  of  the  face,  through  one  thing. 
For  one  thing  does  not  perceive  the  nose,  and  another  the  eyes, 
but  the  same  thing  perceives  at  once  all  the  parts  of  the  face. 
And  though  one  sensation  proceeds  through  the  eyes,  but  an- 
other through  the  ears,  yet  it  is  necessary  there  should  be  some 
one  thing  at  which  both  arrive.  Or  how  could  the  soul  say  that 
these  are  different,  unless  the  perceptions  of  sense  at  once  ter- 
minated in  the  same  thing?  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  this 
should  be  as  it  were  a  centre,  that  the  senses  should  on  all  sides 
be  extended  to  this,  Hke  lines  from  the  circumference  of  a  circle, 
and  that  a  thing  of  this  kind  which  apprehends  the  perceptions 
of  sense  should  be  truly  one.  ... 

VII.  The  same  thing  also  may  be  seen  from  pain  and  the 
sensation  of  pain;  when  a  man  is  said  to  have  a  pain  in  or  about 
his  finger.  For  then  it  is  manifest  that  the  sensation  of  pain  is 
produced  in  the  principal  or  ruling  part.  A  portion  of  the  spirit 
being  pained,  the  ruling  part  has  a  perception  of  the  pain,  and  the 
whole  soul  in  consequence  of  this  suffers  the  same  pain.  How, 
therefore,  does  this  happen?  They  will  say  by  transmission, 
the  psychical  spirit  about  the  finger  suffering  in  the  first  place, 
but  imparting  the  passion  to  that  which  is  next  to  it,  and  after- 
wards to  something  else,  until  the  passion  arrives  at  the  ruling 
part.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  if  that  which  is  primarily  pained 
perceives,  that  there  should  be  another  sensation  of  that  which 
is  second,  provided  sensation  is  produced  by  transmission.  Like- 
wise, it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be  another  sensation  of 
that  which  is  the  third  in  order;  that  there  should  be  many  and 
infinite  sensible  perceptions  of  one  and  the  same  pain ;  and  that 
afterwards  all  these  should  be  perceived  by  the  ruling  part,  and 
besides  these,  that  it  should  have  a  perception  of  its  own  passion. 
In  reality,  however,  each  of  these  does  not  perceive  the  pain 
that  is  in  the  finger;  but  one  sensation  perceives  that  the  part 
of  the  palm  of  the  hand  which  is  next  to  the  finger  is  pained, 
and  another  more  remote  sensation  perceives  the  pain  which  is 
in  a  more  remote  part. 

There  will  also  be  many  pains,  the  ruling  faculty  not  perceiv- 
ing the  passion  which  is  in  the  finger,  but  that  which  is  present 


no  PLOTINUS 

with  itself.  And  this  it  will  alone  know,  but  will  bid  farewell  to 
the  others,  not  perceiving  that  the  finger  is  pained.  It,  therefore, 
is  not  possible  that  sensible  perception  of  a  thing  of  this  kind 
should  subsist  according  to  transmission.  Nor  can  any  one  part 
of  the  body — which  is  an  extended  mass — be  aware  of  another's 
suffering,  since  in  every  magnitude  the  parts  are  distinct.  If  this 
be  the  case,  it  is  necessary  that  the  perceiving  faculty  should  be 
of  such  a  nature,  as  to  be  every  where  identical  with  itself.  But 
this  pertains  to  any  thing  else  rather  than  to  body. 

VIII.  Moreover,  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  perceive 
intellectually  if  the  soul  is  body,  may  be  demonstrated  as  fol- 
lows. For  if  to  perceive  sensibly  is,  for  the  soul  using  the  body 
to  apprehend  sensible  objects,  intellectual  perception  will  not 
be  an  apprehension  of  the  objects  of  such  perception,  through 
body.  For  unless  this  is  admitted,  intellectual  will  be  the  same 
with  sensible  perception.  Hence,  if  to  perceive  intellectually  is 
to  apprehend  without  body,  by  a  much  greater  priority  it  is 
necessary  that  the  nature  which  thus  perceives  should  not  be 
body.  Farther  still,  if  sense  indeed  is  the  perception  of  sensible 
objects,  intellection  is  the  perception  of  intelligible  objects.  If, 
however,  they  are  not  willing  to  admit  this,  yet  there  must  be 
in  us  thoughts  of  certain  intelligible  objects,  and  apprehensions 
of  things  without  magnitude.  How,  therefore,  will  intellect  if  it 
is  magnitude,  understand  that  which  is  not  magnitude,  and 
with  its  divisible  nature,  think  that  which  is  indivisible?  Shall 
we  say  it  will  understand  it  by  a  certain  indivisible  part  of  itself? 
But  if  this  be  the  case,  that  which  understands  will  not  be  body. 
For  there  is  no  need  of  the  whole  in  order  to  come  into  contact 
with  the  object  of  its  thought;  since  contact  of  a  single  part  is 
sufl&cient. 

If,  therefore,  they  admit  that  the  most  abstract  thoughts 
are  entirely  liberated  from  body,  it  is  necessary  that  the  nature 
which  intellectually  perceives  the  form  separate  from  body  of 
each  thing,  should  know  either  real  being,  or  that  which  is  be- 
coming pure.  But  if  they  say  that  thoughts  are  of  forms  in- 
herent in  matter,  yet  they  are  then  only  apprehended  when  by 
intellect  they  are  separated  from  body.  For  the  separation  [i.e. 


ENNEADES  in 

abstraction]  of  a  circle  and  triangle,  of  a  line  and  a  point,  is  not 
eflfected  in  conjunction  with  flesh,  or  in  short,  with  matter. 
Hence  it  is  necessary  that  the  soul  also,  in  a  separation  of  this 
kind,  should  separate  itself  from  the  body.  And  therefore  it  is 
necessary  that  it  should  not  be  itself  body.  I  think,  likewise, 
that  the  beautiful  and  the  just  are  without  magnitude,  and 
consequently  the  thought  of  these  is  unattended  with  magni- 
tude. Hence,  these  approaching  to  us  are  apprehended  by  that 
which  is  indivisible  in  the  soul,  and  in  the  soul  they  reside  in  the 
indivisible.  How  also,  if  the  soul  is  body,  can  temperance  and 
justice  be  the  virtues  of  it,  which  are  its  saviours,  so  far  as  they 
are  received  by  it? 

IX.  There  must,  therefore,  be  another  nature  which  pos- 
sesses existence  from  itself,  and  such  is  every  thing  which  is 
truly  being,  a-nd  which  is  neither  generated,  nor  destroyed.  For 
without  the  subsistence  of  this,  all  things  would  vanish  into 
non-entity,  and  this  perishing,  would  not  afterwards  be  gener- 
ated; since  this  imparts  safety  to  all  other  things,  and  also  to 
the  universe  which  through  soul  is  preserved  and  adorned.  For 
soul  is  the  principle  of  motion,  with  which  it  supplies  other 
things,  itself  moving  itself,  and  imparting  life  to  the  animated 
body.  But  it  possesses  life  from  itself,  which  it  will  never  lose, 
because  it  is  derived  from  itself.  For  all  things  do  not  use  an 
adventitious  life,  or  there  would  be  a  progression  of  life  to 
infinity.  But  it  is  necessary  there  should  be  a  certain  nature 
primarily  vital,  which  is  also  necessarily  indestructible  and 
immortal,  as  being  the  principle  of  life  to  other  things.  .  .  . 

X.  That  the  soul,  however,  is  aUied  to  a  more  divine  and 
eternal  nature,  is  evident  from  its  not  being  body  as  we  have 
demonstrated,  and  also  because  it  has  neither  figure  nor  colour. 
Moreover,  this  likewise  may  be  shown  from  the  following  con- 
siderations. It  is  acknowledged  by  all  of  us,  that  every  divine 
nature,  and  one  which  is  truly  being,  enjoys  an  excellent  and 
wise  life.  This,  therefore,  being  admitted,  it  is  necessary  to 
consider  in  the  next  place,  what  is  the  nature  of  our  soul.  We 
must  assume  the  soul,  however,  not  as  receiving  in  the  body 
irrational  desires  and  angers,  and  other  passions,  but  as  abolish- 


112  *   PLOTINUS 

ing  all  these,  and  as  much  as  possible  having  no  communication 
with  the  body.  For  such  a  soul  as  this  will  clearly  show  that 
evils  are  an  addition  to  the  soul,  and  are  externally  derived; 
and  that  the  most  excellent  things  are  inherent  in  it  when  it  is 
purified,  viz.  wisdom  and  every  other  virtue,  which  are  its 
proper  possessions. 

If,  therefore,  the  soul  is  such  when  it  returns  to  itself,  how  is 
it  possible  it  should  not  belong  to  that  nature  which  we  say  is 
possessed  by  every  thing  eternal  and  divine?  For  wisdom  and 
true  virtue  being  divine,  cannot  be  inherent  in  any  vile  and 
mortal  thing;  but  that  which  is  of  this  kind  is  necessarily  divine, 
as  being  full  of  divine  goods,  through  an  alliance  and  similitude 
of  essence  to  a  divine  nature.  Hence,  whoever  of  us  resembles  a 
soul  of  this  description,  will  in  soul  itself  differ  but  httle  from 
superior  beings;  in  this  alone  being  inferior  to  them,  that  he  is 
in  body.  On  which  account,  also,  if  every  man  was  such,  or  if 
the  multitude  employed  souls  of  this  kind,  no  one  would  be  so 
incredulous  as  not  to  believe  that  our  soul  is  entirely  immortal. 

XII.  Farther  still,  if  they  say  that  every  soul  is  corruptible, 
it  would  be  requisite  that  all  things  should  have  long  since  per- 
ished. But  if  they  assert  that  one  soul  is  corruptible,  and  an- 
other not,  as  for  instance,  that  the  soul  of  the  universe  is  im- 
mortal, but  ours  not,  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  assign  the 
cause  of  this  difference.  For  each  is  the  cause  of  motion,  and  each 
lives  from  itself.  Each,  likewise,  comes  into  contact  with  the 
same  things  by  the  same  power,  intellectually  perceiving  the 
natures  in  the  heavens,  and  also  those  that  are  beyond  the  heav- 
ens, investigating  everything  which  has  an  essential  subsist- 
ence, and  ascending  as  far  as  to  the  first  principle  of  things.  To 
which  may  be  added,  that  it  is  evident  the  soul  gave  being  to 
itself  prior  to  the  body,  from  its  ability  of  apprehending  what 
each  thing  is,  by  itself,  from  its  own  inherent  spectacles,  and 
from  reminiscence.  And  from  its  employing  eternal  sciences, 
it  is  manifest  that  it  is  itself  perpetual. 

Besides,  since  everything  which  can  be  dissolved  receives 
composition,  hence,  so  far  as  a  thing  is  a  composite,  it  is  natur- 
ally adapted  to  be  dissolved.  But  soul  being  one  simple  energy, 


ENNEADES  113 

and  a  nature  characterized  by  life,  cannot  be  corrupted  as  a 
composite.  Will  it,  therefore,  through  being  divided  and  dis- 
tributed into  minute  parts,  perish?  Soul,  however,  is  not,  as 
we  have  demonstrated,  a  certain  bulk  or  quantity.  May  it  not, 
therefore,  through  being  changed  in  quahty,  be  corrupted? 
Change  in  quality  however  which  corrupts  takes  away  form, 
but  leaves  the  subject  matter.  But  this  is  the  nature  of  a  com- 
posite. Hence,  if  it  is  not  possible  for  the  soul  to  be  corrupted 
according  to  any  of  these  modes,  it  is  necessarily  incorruptible. 

VIII.  THE  INTELLECT 

(v.  I.) 

III.  Hence,  as  the  soul  is  so  honourable  and  divine  a  thing, 
now  confiding  in  a  cause  of  this  kind,  ascend  with  it  to  divinity. 
For  you  will  not  be  very  distant  from  him ;  nor  are  the  intermed- 
iate natures  many.  In  this,  therefore,  which  is  divine,  receive 
that  part  which  is  more  divine,  viz.  the  vicinity  of  the  soul  to 
that  which  is  supernal,  to  which  the  soul  is  posterior,  and  from 
which  it  proceeds.  For  though  it  is  so  great  a  thing  as  we  have 
demonstrated  it  to  be,  yet  it  is  a  certain  image  of  intellect.  And, 
just  as  external  discourse  is  an  image  of  the  discursive  energy 
within  the  soul,  after  the  same  manner,  soul,  and  the  whole  of 
its  energy,  are  the  thought  of  intellect,  and  a  life  which  it  emits 
in  order  to  the  hypostasis  of  another  thing.  It  is  just  as  in  fire, 
where  the  inherent  heat  of  it  is  one  thing,  and  the  heat  which  it 
imparts  another.  It  is  necessary,  however,  to  assume  there,  not 
a  life  flowing  forth,  but  partly  abiding  in  intellect,  and  partly 
giving  subsistence  to  another  life.  Hence,  since  soul  is  derived 
from  intellect,  it  is  intellectual,  and  the  intellect  of  soul  is  con- 
versant with  discursive  energies. 

Again,  the  perfection  of  soul  is  from  intellect,  as  from  a  father 
that  nourishes  it,  who  generated  soul,  as  with  reference  to  him- 
self, not  perfect.  This  hypostasis,  therefore,  is  from  intellect, 
and  is  also  reason  in  energy  when  it  perceives  intellect.  For 
when  it  looks  to  intellect,  it  possesses  internally,  and  appro- 
priately, the  things  which  it  understands,  and  the  energies  which 


114  PLOTINUS 

it  performs.  And  it  is  necessary  to  call  those  energies  alone  the 
energies  of  the  soul,  which  are  intellectual  and  dwell  with  it. 
But  its  subordinate  energies  have  an  external  source,  and  are 
the  passions  of  a  soul  of  this  kind. 

Intellect,  therefore,  causes  the  soul  to  be  more  divine,  both 
because  it  is  the  father  of  it,  and  because  it  is  present  with  it. 
For  there  is  nothing  between  them,  except  the  difference  of  one 
with  reference  to  the  other;  soul  being  successive  to,  and  the 
recipient  of  intellect,  but  intellect  subsisting  as  form.  The  mat- 
ter also  of  intellect  is  beautiful,  since  it  has  the  form  of  intellect, 
and  is  simple.  The  great  excellence,  however,  of  intellect,  is 
manifest  from  this,  that  though  soul  is  such  as  we  have  de- 
scribed it  to  be,  yet  it  is  surpassed  by  intellect. 

TX, 

(v.   XI.) 

IV.  Why,  therefore,  is  it  necessary  to  ascend  to  soul,  and  yet 
not  admit  that  it  is  the  first  of  things?  Is  it  not  because  in  the 
first  place,  indeed,  intellect  is  different  from,  and  more  excellent 
than  soul?  But  that  which  is  more  excellent  is  prior  by  nature. 
For  soul  when  perfect,  does  not,  as  some  fancy  it  does,  generate 
intellect.  For  whence  will  that  which  is  in  capacity  become  in 
energy,  unless  there  is  a  cause  which  leads  into  energy?  Since 
if  it  becomes  in  energy  casually,  it  is  possible  that  it  may  not 
proceed  into  energy.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  first  natures 
should  be  established  in  energy,  and  that  they  should  be  want- 
ing nothing  and  perfect.  But  imperfect  natures  are  posterior  to 
them.  The  progeny  also  of  imperfect,  are  perfected  by  first 
natures,  who  after  the  manner  of  fathers  give  perfection  to 
what  posterior  natures  generated  imperfect  from  the  beginning. 
That,  likewise,  which  is  generated,  has  at  first  the  relation  of 
matter  to  the  maker  of  it,  but  is  afterwards  rendered  perfect  by 
the  participation  of  form.  But  if  it  is  necessary  that  soul  should 
be  connected  with  passion,  and  if  it  is  likewise  necessary  that 
there  should  be  something  impassive,  or  all  things  would  perish 
in  time;  it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be  something  prior  to 


ENNEADES  115 

soul.  And,  if  soul  is  in  the  world,  but  it  is  necessary  there  should 
be  something  beyond  the  world,  on  this  account  also  it  is  neces- 
sary that  there  should  be  something  prior  to  soul.  For  if  that 
which  is  in  the  world,  is  in  body  and  matter,  nothing  would  re- 
main the  same  [if  that  which  is  mundane  only  existed].  So  that 
man,  and  all  productive  principles,  would  not  be  perpetual,  nor 
always  the  same.  Hence,  that  it  is  necessary  intellect  should  be 
prior  to  soul,  may  be  seen  from  these  and  many  other  arguments. 

V.  It  is  necessary,  however,  to  consider  intellect  truly  so 
called  neither  as  intellect  in  capacity,  nor  as  proceeding  from  the 
privation  to  the  possession  of  intellect.  For  if  we  do  not,  we 
must  again  investigate  another  intellect  prior  to  this.  But  we 
must  assume  intellect  in  energy,  and  eternally.  If  such  an  intel- 
lect, however,  has  not  adventitious  thought,  whatever  it  intel- 
lectually perceives,  it  perceives  from  itself.  And  whatever  it 
possesses,  it  possesses  from  itself.  But  if  it  perceives  intel- 
lectually by  and  from  itself,  it  is  itself  that  which  it  perceives. 
For  if  the  essence  of  it  were  one  thing,  and  the  object  of  its  per- 
ception another,  its  very  essence  would  not  be  an  intelligible 
object;  and  again,  it  would  be  intellect  in  capacity,  but  not 
in  energy.  Neither  of  these,  therefore,  must  be  separated 
from  the  other.  With  us,  however,  it  is  usual,  from  the  things 
with  which  we  are  conversant,  to  separate  in  our  conceptions 
intellect,  and  the  objects  of  its  perception.  .  .  . 

VI.  Let,  therefore,  intellect  be  [real]  beings,  and  possess  all 
things  in  itself,  not  as  in  place  but  as  itself,  and  as  being  one 
with  them.  But  all  things  there  subsist  together,  and  neverthe- 
less are  separated  from  one  another.  For  the  soul  also  which 
has  many  notions  in  itself  simultaneously,  possesses  them  with- 
out any  confusion.  Each  also,  when  it  is  requisite,  performs 
what  pertains  to  it,  without  the  co-operation  of  the  rest.  And 
each  conception  energizes  with  a  purity  unmingled  with  the 
other  inward  conceptions.  Thus,  therefore,  and  in  a  still  greater 
degree,  intellect  is  at  once  all  things;  and  yet,  not  together, be- 
cause each  real  existence  is  a  peculiar  power.  Every  intellect, 
however,  includes  all  things,  in  the  same  manner  as  genus 
comprehends  species,  and  as  a  whole  comprehends  its  parts. 


QUINTUS  SEPTIMIUS  FLORENS 
TERTULLIANUS 

(160-220) 

A  TREATISE  ON  THE  SOUL 

Translated  from  the  Latin^  by 
PETER   HOLMES 

CHAPTER  IV.    THE  SOUL  CREATED 

After  settling  the  origin  of  the  soul,  its  condition  or  state 
comes  up  next.  For  when  we  acknowledge  that  the  soul  orig- 
inates in  the  breath  of  God,  it  follows  that  we  attribute  a  be- 
ginning to  it.  This  Plato,  indeed,  refuses  to  assign  to  it,  for  he 
will  have  the  soul  to  be  unborn  and  unmade.^  We,  however, 
from  the  very  fact  of  its  having  had  a  beginning,  as  well  as  from 
the  nature  thereof,  teach  that  it  had  both  birth  and  creation. 
And  when  we  ascribe  both  birth  and  creation  to  it,  we  have 
made  no  mistake :  for  being  horn,  indeed,  is  one  thing,  and  being 
made  is  another,  —  the  former  being  the  term  which  is  best 
suited  to  living  beings.  When  distinctions,  however,  have 
places  and  times  of  their  own,  they  occasionally  possess  also 
reciprocity  of  application  among  themselves.  Thus,  the  being 
made  admits  of  being  taken  in  the  sense  of  being  brought  forth ;  ^ 
inasmuch  as  everything  which  receives  being  or  existence,  in 
any  way  whatever,  is  in  fact  generated.  For  the  maker  may 
really  be  called  the  parent  of  the  thing  that  is  made:  in  this 
sense  Plato  also  uses  the  phraseology.  So  far,  therefore,  as  con- 

*  From  De  Anima  (about  210).  Reprinted  from  the  Ante-Nicene  Chris- 
tian Library,  vol.  xv,  The  Writings  of  TertuUian,  translated  by  Peter  Holmes, 
Edinburgh,  1870,  vol.  11. 

1  See  his  Phmdrus,  c.  xxiv. 

*  Capit  itaque  et  facturam  provenisse  poni. 


A  TREATISE  ON  THE  SOUL  117 

cerns  our  belief  in  the  souls  being  made  or  born,  the  opinion  of 
the  philosopher  is  overthrown  by  the  authority  of  prophecy  ^ 
even; 


CHAPTER   V.    THE   SOULS   CORPOREAL  NATURE 

Suppose  one  summons  a  Eubulus  to  his  assistance,  and  a 
Critolaus,  and  a  Zenocrates,  and  on  this  occasion  Plato's  friend 
Aristotle.  They  may  very  possibly  hold  themselves  ready  for 
stripping  the  soul  of  its  corporeity,  unless  they  happen  to  see 
other  philosophers  opposed  to  them  in  their  purpose  —  and 
this,  too,  in  greater  numbers  —  asserting  for  the  soul  a  corpo- 
real nature.  Now  I  am  not  referring  merely  to  those  who  mould 
the  soul  out  of  manifest  bodily  substances,  as  Hipparchus  and 
Heraclitus  [do]  out  of  fire;  as  Hippon  and  Thales  [do]  out  of 
water;  as  Empedocles  and  Critias  [do]  out  of  blood;  as  Epicurus 
[does]  out  of  atoms,  since  even  atoms  by  their  coherence  form 
corporeal  masses ;  as  Critolaus  and  his  Peripatetics  [do]  out  of  a 
certain  indescribable  quintessence,"^  if  that  may  be  called  a  body 
which  rather  includes  and  embraces  bodily  substances;  —  but  I 
call  on  the  Stoics  also  to  help  me,  who,  while  declaring  almost 
in  our  own  terms  that  the  soul  is  a  spiritual  essence  (inasmuch 
as  breath  and  spirit  are  in  their  nature  very  near  akin  to  each 
other),  will  yet  have  no  difficulty  in  persuading  [us]  that  the 
soul  is  a  corporeal  substance.  Indeed,  Zeno,  defining  the  soul 
to  be  a  spirit  generated  with  [the  body],  constructs  his  argu- 
ment in  this  way:  That  substance  which  by  its  departure 
causes  the  living  being  to  die  is  a  corporeal  one.  Now  it  is  by 
the  departure  of  the  spirit,  which  is  generated  with  [the  body], 
that  the  living  being  dies;  therefore  the  spirit  which  is  gener- 
ated with  [the  body]  is  a  corporeal  substance.  But  this  spirit 
which  is  generated  with  [the  body]  is  the  soul :  it  follows,  then, 
that  the  soul  is  a  corporeal  substance.  Cleanthes,  too,  will  have 
it  that  family  likeness  passes  from  parents  to  their  children  not 
merely  in  bodily  features,  but  in  characteristics  of  the  soul ;  as 

^  Or,  "inspiration." 

'  Ex  quinta  nescio  qua  substantia.  Comp.  Cicero's  Tuscul.  i.  lo. 


ii8  TERTULLIANUS 

if  it  were  out  of  a  mirror  of  [a  man's]  manners,  and  faculties, 
and  affections,  that  bodily  likeness  and  unlikeness  are  caught 
and  reflected  by  the  soul  also.  It  is  therefore  as  being  corporeal 
that  it  is  susceptible  of  likeness  and  unlikeness.  Again,  there  is 
nothing  in  common  between  things  corporeal  and  things  in- 
corporeal as  to  their  susceptibility.  But  the  soul  certainly  sym- 
pathizes with  the  body,  and  shares  in  its  pain,  whenever  it  is 
injured  by  bruises,  and  wounds,  and  sores:  the  body,  too, 
suffers  with  the  soul,  and  is  united  with  it  (whenever  it  is 
afHicted  with  anxiety,  distress,  or  love)  in  the  loss  of  vigour 
which  its  companion  sustains,  whose  shame  and  fear  it  testifies 
by  its  own  blushes  and  paleness.  The  soul,  therefore,  is  [proved 
to  be]  corporeal  from  this  intercommunion  of  susceptibility. 
Chrysippus  also  joins  hands  in  fellowship  with  Cleanthes,  when 
he  lays  it  down  that  it  is  not  at  all  possible  for  things  which  are 
endued  with  body  to  be  separated  from  things  which  have  not 
body;  because  they  have  no  such  relation  as  mutual  contact  or 
coherence.  Accordingly  Lucretius  says:  ^ 

"  Tangere  enim  et  tangi  nisi  corpus  nulla  potest  res." 

"  For  nothing  but  body  is  capable  of  touching  or  of  being  touched." 

[Such  severance,  however,  is  quite  natural  between  the  soul 
and  the  body];  for  when  the  body  is  deserted  by  the  soul,  it  is 
overcome  by  death.  The  soul,  therefore,  is  endued  with  a  body; 
for  if  it  were  not  corporeal,  it  could  not  desert  the  body. 

CHAPTER  X.    TEE  SOULS  SIMPLICITY 

It  is  essential  to  a  firm  faith,  to  declare  with  Plato^  that  the 
soul  is  simple;  in  other  words,  uniform  and  uncompounded ; 
simply,  that  is  to  say,  in  respect  of  its  substance.  Never  mind 
men's  artificial  views  and  theories,  and  away  with  the  fabri- 
cations of  heresy !  Some  maintain  that  there  is  within  the  soul  a 
natural  substance  —  the  spirit  —  which  is  different  from  it:  as 
if  to  have  life  —  the  function  of  the  soul  —  were  one  thing;  and 

^  De  Nat.  Rer.  i.  305. 

'  See  his  Pkado,  p.  80;  TinuBus,  J  12,  p.  35  (Bekker,  pp.  264,  265). 


A  TREATISE  OxN  THE  SOUL  119 

to  emit  breath  —  the  alleged  function  of  the  spirit  —  were 
another  thing.  Now  it  is  not  in  all  animals  that  these  two  func- 
tions are  found;  for  there  are  many  which  only  live,  but  do  not 
breathe,  in  that  they  do  not  possess  the  organs  of  respiration  — 
lungs  and  windpipes.  But  of  what  use  is  it,  in  an  examination 
of  the  soul  of  man,  to  borrow  proofs  from  a  gnat  or  an  ant, 
when  the  great  Creator  in  His  divine  arrangement  has  allotted 
to  every  animal  organs  of  vitality  suited  to  its  own  disposition 
and  nature,  so  that  we  ought  not  to  catch  at  any  conjectures 
from  comparisons  of  this  sort?  Man,  indeed,  although  organ- 
ically furnished  with  lungs  and  windpipes,  will  not  on  that  ac- 
count be  proved  to  breathe  by  one  process,  and  to  live  by  an- 
other; ^  nor  can  the  ant,  although  defective  in  these  organs,  be 
on  that  account  said  to  be  without  respiration,  as  if  it  lived  and 
that  was  all.  .  .  . 

You  think  it  possible  for  a  thing  to  live  without  breath ;  then 
why  not  suppose  that  a  thing  might  breathe  without  lungs  ? 
Pray,  tell  me,  what  is  it  to  breathe?  I  suppose  it  means  to 
emit  breath  from  yourself.  What  is  it  not  to  live?  I  suppose  it 
means  not  to  emit  breath  from  yourself.  This  is  the  answer 
which  I  should  have  to  make,  if  "to  breathe"  is  not  the  same 
thing  as  "to  live."  It  must,  however,  be  characteristic  of  a 
dead  man  not  to  respire :  to  respire,  therefore,  is  the  characteris- 
tic of  a  living  man.  But  to  respire  is  likewise  the  characteristic 
of  a  breathing  man :  therefore  also  to  breathe  is  the  character- 
istic of  a  living  man.  Now,  if  both  one  and  the  other  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  accomplished  without  the  soul,  to  breathe 
might  not  be  a  function  of  the  soul,  but  merely  to  live.  But 
indeed  to  live  is  to  breathe,  and  to  breathe  is  to  live.  Therefore 
this  entire  process,  both  of  breathing  and  living,  belongs  to  that 
to  which  living  belongs  —  that  is,  to  the  soul.  Well,  then,  since 
you  separate  the  spirit  (or  breath)  and  the  soul,  separate  their 
operations  also.  Let  both  of  them  accomplish  some  act  apart 
from  one  another  —  the  soul  apart,  the  spirit  apart.  Let  the 
soul  live  without  the  spirit;  let  the  spirit  breathe  without  the 

^  Aliunde  spirabit,  aliunde  vivet.  "In  the  nature  of  man,  life  and  breath  are 
inseparable"  (Bp.  Kaye). 


120  TERTULLIANUS 

soul.  Let  one  of  them  quit  men's  bodies,  let  the  other  remain ; 
let  death  and  life  meet  and  agree. 

If  indeed  the  soul  and  the  spirit  are  two,  they  may  be  divided ; 
and  thus,  by  the  separation  of  the  one  which  departs  from  the 
one  which  remains,  there  would  accrue  the  union  and  meeting 
together  of  life  and  of  death.  But  such  a  union  never  will  accrue : 
therefore  they  are  not  two,  and  they  cannot  be  divided;  but 
divided  they  might  have  been,  if  they  had  been  [two].  Still 
two  things  may  surely  coalesce  in  growth.  But  the  two  in 
question  never  will  coalesce,  since  to  live  is  one  thing,  and  to 
breathe  is  another.  Substances  are  distinguished  by  their 
operations.  How  much  firmer  ground  have  you  for  believing 
that  the  soul  and  the  spirit  are  but  one,  since  you  assign  to 
them  no  difference;  so  that  the  soul  is  itself  the  spirit,  respira- 
tion being  the  function  of  that  of  which  life  also  is!  But  what 
if  you  insist  on  supposing  that  the  day  is  one  thing,  and  the 
light,  which  is  incidental  to  the  day,  is  another  thing,  whereas 
day  is  only  the  light  itself  ?  There  must,  of  course,  be  also 
different  kinds  of  light,  as  [appears]  from  the  ministry  of  fires. 
So  likewise  will  there  be  different  sorts  of  spirits,  according  as 
they  emanate  from  God  or  from  the  devil.  Whenever,  indeed, 
the  question  is  about  soul  and  spirit,  the  soul  will  be  [under- 
stood to  be]  itself  the  spirit,  just  as  the  day  is  the  light  itself. 
For  a  thing  is  itself  identical  with  that  by  means  of  which  itself 
exists. 

CHAPTER  XII.    THE   MIND  AND  SOUL 

In  like  manner  the  mind  also,  or  animus,  which  the  Greeks 
designate  N0Y2,  is  taken  by  us  in  no  other  sense  than  as 
indicating  that  faculty  or  apparatus  which  is  inherent  and 
implanted  in  the  soul,  and  naturally  proper  to  it,  whereby  it 
acts,  whereby  it  acquires  knowledge,  and  by  the  possession  of 
which  it  is  capable  of  a  spontaneity  of  motion  within  itself, 
and  of  thus  appearing  to  be  impelled  by  the  mind,  as  if  it  were 
another  substance,  as  is  maintained  by  those  who  determine 
the  soul  to  be  the  moving  principle  of  the  universe  ^  —  the  god 

1  Comp.  The  Apology,  c.  xlviii.;  August.  De  Civ.  Dei,  xiii.  17. 


A  TREATISE  ON  THE  SOUL  121 

of  Socrates,  Valentinus '  "only-begotten"  of  his  father^  By  thus, 
and  his  mother  Sige.  How  confused  is  the  opinion  of  Anaxa- 
goras!  For,  having  imagined  the  mind  to  be  the  initiating 
principle  of  all  things,  and  suspending  on  its  axis  the  balance 
of  the  universe;  affirming,  moreover,  that  the  mind  is  a  simple 
principle,  unmixed,  and  incapable  of  admixture,  he  mainly  on 
this  very  consideration  separates  it  from  all  amalgamation  with 
the  soul;  and  yet  in  another  passage  he  actually  incorporates 
it  with  the  soul.  This  [inconsistency]  Aristotle  has  also  ob- 
served; but  whether  he  meant  his  criticism  to  be  constructive, 
and  to  fill  up  a  system  of  his  own,  rather  than  destructive  of  the 
principles  of  others,  I  am  hardly  able  to  decide.  As  for  himself, 
indeed,  although  he  postpones  his  definition  of  the  mind,  yet  he 
begins  by  mentioning,  as  one  of  the  two  natural  constituents  of 
the  mind,  that  divine  principle  which  he  conjectures  to  be  im- 
passible, or  incapable  of  emotion,  and  thereby  removes  from 
all  association  with  the  soul.  For  whereas  it  is  evident  that  the 
soul  is  susceptible  of  those  emotions  which  it  falls  to  it  naturally 
to  suffer,  it  must  needs  suffer  either  by  the  mind  or  with  the 
mind.  Now  if  the  soul  is  by  nature  associated  with  the  mind, 
it  is  impossible  to  draw  the  conclusion  that  the  mind  is  im- 
passible; or  again,  if  the  soul  suffers  not  either  by  the  mind  or 
with  the  mind,  it  cannot  possibly  have  a  natural  association 
with  the  mind,  with  which  it  suffers  nothing,  and  which  suffers 
nothing  itself.  Moreover,  if  the  soul  suffers  nothing  by  the 
mind  and  with  the  mind,  it  will  experience  no  sensation,  nor 
will  it  acquire  any  knowledge,  nor  will  it  undergo  any  emotion 
through  the  agency  of  the  mind,  as  they  maintain  it  will.  For 
Aristotle  makes  even  the  senses  passions,  or  states  of  emotion. 
And  rightly  too.  For  to  exercise  the  senses  is  to  suffer  emotion, 
because  to  suffer  is  to  feel.  In  like  manner,  to  acquire  know- 
ledge is  to  exercise  the  senses,  and  to  undergo  emotion  is  to 
exercise  the  senses;  and  the  whole  of  this  is  a  state  of  suffering. 
But  we  see  that  the  soul  experiences  nothing  of  these  things,  in 
such  a  manner  as  that  the  mind  also  is  not  affected  by  the  emo- 
tion, by  which,  indeed,  and  with  which,  all  is  effected.  It  fol- 

'  Comp.  Adv.  Valentin,  vii. 


122  TERTULLIANUS 

lows,  therefore,  that  the  mind  is  capable  of  admixture,  in  oppo- 
sition to  Anaxagoras;  and  passible  or  susceptible  of  emotion, 
contrary  to  the  opinion  of  Aristotle. 

Besides,  if  a  separate  condition  between  the  soul  and  mind  is 
to  be  admitted,  so  that  they  be  two  things  in  substance,  then 
of  one  of  them,  emotion  and  sensation,  and  every  sort  of  taste, 
and  all  action  and  motion,  will  be  the  characteristics;  whilst  of 
the  other  the  natural  condition  will  be  calm,  and  repose,  and 
stupor.  There  is  therefore  no  alternative:  either  the  mind  must 
be  useless  and  void,  or  the  soul.  But  if  these  affections  may  cer- 
tainly be  all  of  them  ascribed  to  both,  then  in  that  case  the  two 
will  be  one  and  the  same,  and  Democritus  will  carry  his  point 
when  he  suppresses  all  distinction  between  the  two.  The  ques- 
tion will  arise  how  two  can  be  one  —  whether  by  the  confusion 
of  two  substances,  or  by  the  disposition  of  one?  We,  however, 
affirm  that  the  mind  coalesces  with  the  soul,  —  not  indeed  as 
being  distinct  from  it  in  substance,  but  as  being  its  natural 
function  and  agent. 

CHAPTER  XVI.    THE  SOWS  RATIONAL   AND 
IRRATIONAL  PARTS 

That  position  of  Plato's  is  also  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
faith,  in  which  he  divides  the  soul  into  two  parts  —  the  rational 
and  the  irrational.  To  this  definition  we  take  no  exception, 
except  that  we  would  not  ascribe  this  twofold  distinction  to  the 
nature  [of  the  soul].  It  is  the  rational  element  which  we  must 
believe  to  be  its  natural  condition,  impressed  upon  it  from  its 
very  first  creation  by  its  Author,  who  is  Himself  essentially 
rational.  For  how  should  that  be  other  than  rational,  which 
God  produced  on  His  own  prompting;  nay  more,  which  He 
expressly  sent  forth  by  His  own  afflatus  or  breath?  The  irra- 
tional element,  however,  we  must  understand  to  have  accrued 
later,  as  having  proceeded  from  the  instigation  of  the  serpent  — 
the  very  achievement  of  [the  first]  transgression  —  which 
thenceforward  became  inherent  in  the  soul,  and  grew  with  its 
growth,  assuming  the  manner  by  this  time  of  a  natural  develop- 


A  TREATISE  ON  THE  SOUL  123 

ment,  happening  as  it  did  immediately  at  the  beginning  of  na- 
ture. But,  inasmuch  as  the  same  Plato  speaks  of  the  rational 
element  only  as  existing  in  the  soul  of  God  Himself,  if  we  were 
to  ascribe  the  irrational  element  likewise  to  the  nature  which 
our  soul  has  received  from  God,  then  the  irrational  element  will 
be  equally  derived  from  God,  as  being  a  natural  production, 
because  God  is  the  author  of  nature.  Now  from  the  devil  pro- 
ceeds the  incentive  to  sin.  All  sin,  however,  is  irrational: 
therefore  the  irrational  proceeds  from  the  devil,  from  whom  sin 
proceeds;  and  it  is  extraneous  to  God,  to  whom  also  the  irra- 
tional is  an  alien  principle.  The  diversity,  then,  between  these 
two  elements  arises  from  the  difference  of  their  authors.  When, 
therefore,  Plato  reserves  the  rational  element  [of  the  soul]  to 
God  alone,  and  subdivides  it  into  two  departments  —  the 
irascible,  which  they  call  dvfiiKov,  and  the  concupiscible,  which 
they  designate  by  the  term  iTriOvfirjTiKov  (in  such  a  way  as  to 
make  the  first  common  to  us  and  lions,  and  the  second  shared 
between  ourselves  and  flies,  whilst  the  rational  element  is  con- 
fined to  us  and  God).  .  .  . 

CHAPTER  XXII .    RECAPITULATION 

Hermogenes  has  already  heard  from  us  what  are  the  other 
natural  faculties  of  the  soul,  as  well  as  their  vindication  and 
proof;  whence  it  may  be  seen  that  the  soul  is  rather  the  offspring 
of  God  than  of  matter.  The  names  of  these  faculties  shall  here, 
be  simply  repeated,  that  they  may  not  seem  to  be  forgotten 
and  passed  out  of  sight.  We  have  assigned,  then,  to  the  soul 
both  that  freedom  of  the  will  which  we  just  now  mentioned, 
and  its  dominion  over  the  works  of  nature,  and  its  occasional 
gift  of  divination,  independently  of  that  endowment  of  pro- 
phecy which  accrues  to  it  expressly  from  the  grace  of  God.  We 
shall  therefore  now  quit  this  subject  of  the  soul's  disposition, 
in  order  to  set  out  fully  in  order  its  various  qualities.  The  soul, 
then,  we  define  to  be  sprung  from  the  breath  of  God,  immortal, 
possessing  body,  having  form,  simple  in  its  substance,  intelli- 
gent in  its  own  nature,  developing  its  powers  in  various  ways, 


124  TERTULLIANUS 

free  in  its  determinations,  subject  to  the  changes  of  accident, 
in  its  faculties  mutable,  rational,  supreme,  endued  with  an  in- 
stinct of  presentiment,  evolved  out  of  one  [archetypal  soul]. 
It  remains  for  us  now  to  consider  how  it  is  developed  out  of  this 
one  original  source;  in  other  words,  whence,  and  when,  and  how 
it  is  produced. 


GREGORY  OF  NYSSA 

(331-394) 

THE    ENDOWMENT   OF    MAN 

Translated  from  the  Greek  *  hy 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

CHAPTER  XII.  TEE  LOCATION  OF  TEE  INTELLECT 

Dismiss  therefore  every  idle  fancy  and  foolish  conjecture  of 
those  who  confine  the  intellectual  activity  to  particular  loca- 
tions in  the  body.  Some  of  them  think  the  heart  is  the  seat  of 
the  guiding  principle  of  the  soul ;  others  of  them  say  the  mind 
dwells  in  the  brain.  And  these  views  they  seek  to  maintain 
upon  certain  superficial  grounds  of  probabihty.  Those  who 
give  precedence  to  the  heart  regard  its  location  as  a  proof  of 
their  affirmation,  inasmuch  as  it  occupies  to  all  appearance  the 
central  place  of  the  entire  body.  For  this  reason  any  exercise 
of  the  will  can  easily  be  transmitted  from  the  centre  throughout 
the  whole  body,  and  can  thus  proceed  into  action.  As  addi- 
tional evidence  they  cite  the  emotions  of  pain  and  of  anger  in 
men,  since  these  passions  appear  in  a  manner  to  bring  every 
part  into  sympathy.  The  others,  who  attribute  to  the  brain  the 
faculty  of  thought,  say  that  nature  has  constructed  the  brain 
as  a  citadel  for  the  entire  body,  and  the  mind  reigns  therein  like 
a  king,  with  the  organs  of  sense  Hke  messengers  and  armour- 
bearers  standing  guard  about  it.  They  assert  as  a  convincing 
proof  of  their  contention  that  with  those  who  have  suffered  any 
lesion  of  the  membrane  of  the  brain  an  unbalancing  and  de- 
rangement of  the  faculty  of  thought  commonly  occurs,  and 

*  From  Gregory  of  Nyssa's  n«pf  KaTacKivrji  dvdpdirov  in  his  Opera,  Gr.  et 
Lat.    Paris,  1615;  2  ed.  1638. 


126  GREGORY  OF  NYSSA 

that  those  whose  brains  are  clogged  by  drunkenness  lose  all 
consciousness  of  what  is  fitting. 

Both  parties  who  accept  these  views  supplement  their  pre- 
sumptions concerning  the  ruling  faculty  of  the  soul  by  reasons 
more  closely  derived  from  nature.  One  party  says  that  the 
activity  of  the  intellect  has  a  kinship  with  the  igneous,  be- 
cause both  fire  and  the  intellect  are  in  constant  motion.  Since 
now  they  allow  that  heat  has  its  source  in  the  organ  of  the 
heart,  they  afl&rm  that  the  activity  of  the  mind  is  blended  with 
the  mobihty  of  the  heat,  and  as  a  consequence  that  the  heart, 
which  contains  the  heat,  is  the  repository  of  the  intellectual 
nature.  The  other  party  contend,  on  the  contrary,  that  the 
membrane  of  the  brain  (as  the  skin-like  cover  enveloping  the 
brain  is  called)  is,  as  it  were,  the  foundation  and  root  of  the 
organs  of  sense.  Their  warrant  for  the  truth  of  this  affirmation 
is  because  the  activity  of  the  perceptive  faculty  can  never  be 
located  otherwise,  than  in  this  part  where  both  the  ear  is  at- 
tached and  receives  the  sounds  that  fall  upon  it;  where  also  the 
sight,  inseparably  connected  with  the  base  of  the  eyes,  trans- 
mits the  images  that  strike  the  pupils  and  makes  an  impression 
of  them  within;  where  also  the  different  kinds  of  scent  are  dis- 
criminated through  the  sniffing  of  the  organs  of  smell ;  and  where 
also  the  sensation  of  taste  is  determined  by  the  testing  power  of 
the  membrane  of  the  brain,  which  sends  out  certain  fibrous 
runners  bearing  sensation,  and  proceeding  through  the  verte- 
brae of  the  neck  into  the  filterlike  passage  to  the  muscles  there. 

I  concede  that  the  intellectual  processes  of  the  soul  are  often 
disturbed  by  overpowering  diseases,  that  the  natural  activity 
of  the  understanding  is  blunted  by  a  bodily  cause,  and  that  the 
heart  is  a  source  of  bodily  fire  and  becomes  aroused  to  emo- 
tional impulses.  I  admit  further  also  that  the  membrane  of  the 
brain  serves  as  a  foundation  of  the  organs  of  sense,  as  those 
affirm  who  make  such  investigations,  since  it  envelops  the  brain 
and  is  moistened  there  by  the  discharging  vapour.  I  have 
learned  this  from  those  who  have  made  anatomical  studies,  and 
have  no  reason  to  doubt  the  truth  of  what  is  alleged.  Never- 
^theless  I  derive  therefrom  no  proof  whatever,  that  the  incorpo- 


THE  ENDOWMENT  OF  MAN  127 

real  nature  is  confined  by  certain  local  barriers.  We  know,  how- 
ever, that  disturbances  of  the  intellect  do  not  originate  from 
the  mere  clogging  of  the  brain  by  drunkenness,  but  rather,  as 
the  physicians  affirm,  if  the  skin  enveloping  the  sides  be- 
comes diseased,  the  intellect  likewise  assumes  a  disordered  con- 
dition. This  disease  they  call  phrenitis,  since  the  name  of  that 
skin  is  phrenes.  The  theory  of  joint-sensation  occasioned  by 
a  pain  in  the  heart  is  also  mistaken.  When  not  the  heart  in- 
deed but  the  orifice  of  the  stomach  is  painfully  irritated  they 
ignorantly  attribute  the  suffering  to  the  heart.  Those  who 
have  made  a  careful  study  of  diseases  explain  this  as  due  to 
the  fact  that  in  a  painful  condition  of  the  whole  body  there 
occurs  a  closing  of  the  ducts,  and  as  a  result  everything  hin- 
dered in  evaporation  is  driven  back  into  the  depths  of  the 
hollow  parts  of  the  body.  In  consequence,  therefore,  of  the 
compression  of  the  organs  of  respiration  occasioned  by  the 
environment,  a  more  powerful  respiration  takes  place  through 
the  nature  (i.e.  of  the  body),  as  it  seeks  to  remove  the  pressure 
for  the  purpose  of  the  expansion  of  the  contracted  parts.  This 
distress  in  breathing  we  regard  as  a  symptom  of  pain,  and  call 
it  sighing  and  groaning.  But  the  pressure  also  that  we  imagine 
is  felt  in  the  region  of  the  heart,  is  occasioned  by  unpleasant 
sensations  not  of  the  heart,  but  of  the  orifice  of  the  stomach, 
and  is  due  to  the  same  cause,  usually  the  contraction  of  the 
ducts,  since  indeed  the  gall-bladder  as  a  result  of  the  com- 
pression sends  forth  its  sharp  and  smarting  bile  into  the 
orifice  of  the  stomach.  An  evidence  of  this  is  the  yellow  ap- 
pearance of  persons  suffering  from  such  disease  as  jaundice,  due 
to  the  powerful  contraction  of  the  gall,  which  causes  its  juice  to 
flow  into  the  veins. 

But  the  opposite  emotion  also,  that  of  joy  or  laughter,  affords 
our  position  still  stronger  support.  If  one  is  gladdened  by  a 
pleasant  communication  the  ducts  of  the  body  will  also  be 
enlarged  owing  to  the  pleasure.  Now  in  the  case  of  pain  the 
fine  and  invisible  evaporations  of  the  ducts  are  checked,  and 
as  the  viscera  within  is  bound  in  tighter  position,  the  moist  va- 
pour is  forced  to  the  head,  and  to  the  membrane  of  the  brain. 


128  GREGORY  OF  NYSSA 

This  vapour  being  accumulated  in  the  hollows  of  the  brain  is 
then  pressed  out  through  the  ducts  lying  beneath  to  the  eyes, 
where  the  contraction  of  the  eyelashes  segregates  the  moisture 
in  the  form  of  drops  called  tears.  Likewise,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  must  be  observed  that  if  the  ducts  are  enlarged  beyond  their 
accustomed  size  in  consequence  of  the  opposite  affections,  a 
quantity  of  air  is  drawn  through  them  toward  the  depths,  and 
is  there  again  naturally  expelled  through  the  mouth,  since  the 
entire  viscera,  and  especially  it  is  said  the  liver,  forcefully  ejects 
this  air  by  a  convulsive  and  violent  movement.  Nature  there- 
fore provides  for  the  passage  of  this  air  through  an  enlargement 
of  the  aperture  of  the  mouth  by  means  of  the  pushing  apart  of 
the  cheeks  enclosing  the  air.  This  condition  is  termed  laughter. 
Thus  neither  on  account  of  the  alleged  reason  can  the  intel- 
lectual faculty  be  attributed  preferably  to  the  liver;  nor  on 
account  of  the  agitation  of  the  blood  of  the  heart  in  agreeable 
emotion  can  the  location  of  the  faculty  of  thought  be  sup- 
posed in  the  heart.  These  phenomena  must  therefore  be  re- 
ferred to  some  special  organization  of  the  body,  and  it  must  be 
believed  that  the  mind  through  some  inexplicable  plan  of 
blending  is  distributed  in  all  parts  of  the  body,  relatively  to  their 
importance. 

If  on  the  other  hand  one  should  oppose  to  us,  that  Holy 
Writ  (Psalm  viii,  6)  attributes  to  the  heart  most  important 
psychical  activities,  we  cannot  consent  to  such  affirmation 
without  a  closer  examination.  For  he  who  makes  mention  of 
the  heart  includes  therewith  the  reins,  saying  God  "who 
trieth  the  heart  and  reins,"  so  that  one  must  apply  the  seat 
of  thought  to  both,  or  to  neither  of  the  two.  But  though  one 
proves  to  me  that  the  powers  of  the  intellect  are  blunted  in 
certain  conditions  of  the  body,  or  are  even  forced  completely 
into  inaction,  I  do  not  consider  this  fact  sufficient  evidence,  that 
the  power  of  thought  is  limited  to  any  one  locality  in  such  wise 
that  it  would  be  driven  from  its  accustomed  place  of  sojourn 
owing  to  inflammation  befalling  the  parts.  For  it  is  a  truth  ap- 
plicable to  all  bodily  things,  that  if  a  vessel  is  already  occupied 
by  anything  which  fills  it,  nothing  else  can  find  therein  a  place. 


THE  ENDOWMENT  OF  MAN  129 

For  the  intellectual  nature  neither  takes  possession  of  the  empty- 
parts  of  the  body,  nor  permits  itself  to  be  expelled  by  any 
superabundant  flesh ;  but  the  entire  body  is  similar  in  its  organi- 
sation to  a  wind  instrument,  which  a  musician  oftentimes 
knows  how  to  play,  but  cannot  show  his  knowledge  because  the 
uselessness  of  the  instrument  prevents  the  display  of  his  art. 
Either  it  is  unfit  owing  to  age,  or  cracked  from  a  fall,  or 
unusable  on  account  of  rust  or  mould.  As  a  result  it  is  mute  and 
ineffective,  even  if  played  upon  by  the  most  expert  master  of 
the  pipes.  Even  so  the  mind  pervades  the  entire  organism, 
and  acting  in  harmony  with  the  powers  of  thought,  as  it 
naturally  can,  operates  upon  each  one  of  the  individual  parts. 
In  the  case  of  those  that  are  in  their  natural  condition  it  pro- 
duces the  customary  effect,  but  in  bodies  which  are  too  weak 
to  receive  the  operation  of  its  art,  it  remains  inactive  and 
inefficacious.  For  it  is  the  peculiar  quality  of  the  mind  that  it 
maintains  friendly  relationship  with  that  which  is  in  its  natural 
conditions,  but  is  alienated  from  whatever  has  receded  from 
nature. 

At  this  stage  a  principle  suggests  itself  to  me,  which  is  based 
even  more  upon  the  natural  inner  consideration  of  things,  and 
from  which  we  can  derive  still  higher  precepts.  For  the  divine 
nature  is  itself  the  most  beautiful  of  all  things  that  is  pre- 
eminently good;  and  the  essence  towards  which  anything 
which  possesses  the  desire  for  the  beautiful  is  drawn.  We,  there- 
fore, affirm  that  the  mind,  precisely  because  it  is  created  after 
the  image  of  the  most  beautiful,  can  itself  abide  in  the  beautiful 
so  long  as  it  possesses  the  amount  of  similarity  with  its  proto- 
type that  it  receives;  and  that  on  the  contrary  if  it  recedes  in 
any  measure  from  this  resemblance,  it  is  deprived  of  that 
beauty  in  which  it  was  resident.  But  just  as  we  said  the  mind 
possesses  in  itself  beauty  from  similarity  with  its  prototype, 
and  like  a  mirror  profits  by  the  image  of  the  form  appearing  in 
it;  so  in  a  similar  manner  we  reason  that  nature  also  stands 
subject  to  the  guidance  and  ruling  of  reason,  and  profits  by  its 
beauty  and  perfection.  It  is,  as  it  were,  a  mirror  of  a  mirror,  and 
the  material  of  our  personality  in  which  our  nature  is  observed, 


I30  GREGORY  OF  NYSSA 

is  governed,  and  held  together  by  reason.  So  long  as  the  one 
cleaves  to  the  other  the  community  also  of  true  beauty  and 
perfection  pervades  in  right  relation  all  the  parts,  and  transfers 
the  lustre  of  divine  grandeur  to  that  connected  with  it.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  a  sundering  of  this  incorporation  with  the  good 
occurs,  or  if  the  higher  appears  in  a  subordinate  relation  to  the 
lower,  then  also  the  unloveliness  of  the  material  abundance  by 
nature  reveals  itself,  (for  matter  is  in  itself  something  unformed 
and  crude).  Thus  owing  to  this  formlessness,  that  beauty  of 
nature  which  adorns  it  through  reason  is  also  destroyed. 
Hence  the  unloveliness  of  matter  passes  over  through  nature 
to  the  mind  itself,  in  such  a  manner  that  the  image  of  God  is 
seen  no  longer  in  the  impression  on  the  features.  For  the  mind 
now  receives  the  picture  of  the  (divine)  perfections  as  upon 
the  back  of  the  mirror,  and  although  it  reflects  the  rays  of  the 
splendour  reflected  from  the  good,  it  also  rubs  off  the  form- 
lessness of  matter  upon  itself.  Thus  evil  originates,  the  ex- 
istence of  which  commences  with  the  deprivation  of  the  good. 
But  the  beautiful  is  everything  that  stands  in  harmonious  rela- 
tions with  the  original  good;  but  everything  that  stands  out- 
side of  this  relation,  and  of  similarity  with  it,  has  no  part  in  the 
beautiful.  If  now  according  to  the  reasoning  we  have 
observed  there  is  only  one  original  good,  and  if  the  mind  in 
virtue  of  its  creation  in  the  image  of  the  beautiful  has  itself 
beauty,  and  if  the  nature  comprised  by  the  mind  is  as  it  were 
an  image  of  an  image,  then  it  is  thereby  proved  that  our 
material  principle  has  persistence  and  continued  support  just 
as  long  as  it  is  guided  and  kept  in  order  by  nature,  but  that  it  is 
committed  to  dissolution  and  decay  if  it  forsakes  that  which 
gives  it  support  and  persistence,  and  is  torn  from  its  incorpora- 
tion with  the  beautiful.  But  this  does  take  place  precisely  when 
there  has  been  a  reversion  from  nature  towards  the  opposite. 
For  there  is  every  necessity  that  matter  robbed  of  its  own  form 
must  likewise  suffer  an  alteration  corresponding  to  this  shape- 
lessness  and  unloveliness. 

This  is  nevertheless  an  incidental  explanation  which  has 
developed  from  our  discussion  upon  the  principal  topic  at 


THE  ENDOWMENT  OF  MAN  131 

issue.  The  chief  question  was,  whether  the  intellect  has  its 
location  in  one  special  part  of  us,  or  whether  it  pervades  all 
parts  alike.  For  the  reasoning  of  those  who  circumscribe  the 
mind  with  local  parts,  and  cite  as  a  proof  of  their  assumption 
the  fact  that  if  the  membrane  of  the  brain  is  in  an  unnatural 
condition  thought  is  impaired,  has  disclosed  that  the  power  of 
the  soul  is  in  every  part  of  the  human  organism  that  is  in  a 
condition  to  receive  its  activity,  and  similarly  becomes  inactive 
so  soon  as  any  part  loses  its  natural  condition.  For  that  reason 
there  was  necessarily  involved  in  the  argument,  the  proposal  by 
which  we  learn  that  in  the  human  organism  the  mind  is  regu- 
lated by  God,  and  through  that  in  turn  the  material  Hfe  is 
guided  so  long  as  it  remains  in  the  service  of  nature,  but  that 
if  it  turns  aside  from  nature  it  also  loses  the  power  of  activity, 
derived  from  the  mind.  Thus  we  return  again  to  our  point  of 
departure,  to  wit,  that  the  mind  exercises  power  in  such  parts 
of  the  body  as  have  not  lost  their  natural  constitution  as  a 
result  of  disease,  and  remains  effective  if  they  continue  in  con- 
formity to  nature,  but  on  the  contrary  is  powerless  in  those 
parts  which  are  incapable  of  maintaining  its  activity.    ' 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE 

(354-430) 

ON  THE  TRINITY 

Translated  from  the  Latin  *  by 
ARTHUR  WEST  HADDAN 

BOOK  X.    CHAPTER  X.    THE  NATURE  OF  MIND 

13.  Let  it  not  then  add  anything  to  that  which  it  knows 
itself  to  be,  when  it  is  bidden  to  know  itself.  For  it  knows,  at 
any  rate,  that  this  is  said  to  itself;  namely,  to  itself,  that  is,  and 
that  lives,  and  that  understands.  But  a  dead  body  also  is,  and 
cattle  live;  but  neither  a  dead  body  nor  cattle  understand. 
Therefore  it  so  knows  that  it  so  is,  and  that  it  so  lives,  as  an 
understanding  is  and  Hves.  When,  therefore,  for  example's 
sake,  the  mind  thinks  itself  air,  it  thinks  that  air  understands; 
it  knows,however,  that  itself  understands,  but  it  does  not  know 
itself  to  be  air,  but  only  thinks  so.  Let  it  separate  that  which 
it  thinks  itself;  let  it  discern  that  which  it  knows;  let  this  re- 
main to  it,  about  which  not  even  have  they  doubted  who  have 
thought  the  mind  to  be  this  corporeal  thing  or  that.  For  cer- 
tainly every  mind  does  not  consider  itself  to  be  air;  but  some 
think  themselves  fire,  others  the  brain,  and  some  one  kind  of 
corporeal  thing,  others  another,  as  I  have  mentioned  before; 
yet  all  know  that  they  themselves  understand,  and  are,  and 
live;  but  they  refer  understanding  to  that  which  they  under- 
stand, but  to  be,  and  to  live,  to  themselves.  And  no  one  doubts, 
either  that  no  one  understands  who  does  not  live,  or  that  no  one 
lives  of  whom  it  is  not  true  that  he  is;  and  that  therefore  by 
consequence  that  which  understands  both  is  and  lives;  not  as  a 

*  From  De  Trinitate,  Strasburg,  1477.  Reprinted  from  Augustine's  On  the 
Trinity,  translated  by  Arthur  West  Haddan,  Edinburgh,  1873. 


ON  THE  TRINITY  133 

dead  body  is  which  does  not  live,  nor  as  a  soul  lives  which  does 
not  understand,  but  in  some  proper  and  more  excellent  manner. 
Further,  they  know  that  they  will,  and  they  equally  know  that 
no  one  can  will  who  is  not  and  who  does  not  live ;  and  they  also 
refer  that  will  itself  to  something  which  they  will  with  that  will. 
They  know  also  that  they  remember;  and  they  know  at  the 
same  time  that  nobody  could  remember,  unless  he  both  was  and 
lived;  but  we  refer  memory  itself  also  to  something,  in  that  we 
remember  those  things.  Therefore  the  knowledge  and  science 
of  many  things  are  contained  in  two  of  these  three,  memory 
and  understanding;  hut  will  must  be  present,  that  we  may  en- 
joy or  use  them.  For  we  enjoy  things  known,  in  which  things 
themselves  the  will  finds  delight  for  their  own  sake,  and  so  re- 
poses; but  we  use  those  things,  which  we  refer  to  some  other 
thing  which  we  are  to  enjoy.  Neither  is  the  life  of  man  vicious 
and  culpable  in  any  other  way,  than  as  wrongly  using  and 
wrongly  enjoying.  But  it  is  no  place  here  to  discuss  this. 

14.  But  since  we  treat  of  the  nature  of  the  mind,  let  us 
remove  from  our  consideration  all  knowledge  which  is  received 
from  without,  through  the  senses  of  the  body;  and  attend  more 
carefully  to  the  position  which  we  have  laid  down,  that  all 
minds  know  and  are  certain  concerning  themselves.  For  men 
certainly  have  doubted  whether  the  power  of  living,  of  remem- 
bering, of  understanding,  of  willing,  of  thinking,  of  knowing,  of 
judging,  be  of  air,  or  of  fire,  or  of  the  brain,  or  of  the  blood,  or 
of  atoms,  or  besides  the  usual  four  elements  of  a  fifth  kind  of 
body,  I  know  not  what;  or  whether  the  combining  or  temper- 
ing together  of  this  our  flesh  itself  has  power  to  accomplish 
these  things.  And  one  has  attempted  to  establish  this,  and 
another  to  establish  that.  Yet  who  ever  doubts  that  he  him- 
self lives,  and  remembers,  and  understands,  and  wills,  and 
thinks,  and  knows,  and  judges?  Seeing  that  even  if  he  doubts, 
he  lives;  if  he  doubts,  he  remembers  why  he  doubts;  if  he 
doubts,  he  understands  that  he  doubts;  if  he  doubts,  he  wishes 
to  be  certain;  if  he  doubts,  he  thinks;  if  he  doubts,  he  knows 
that  he  does  not  know;  if  he  doubts,  he  judges  that  he  ought  not 
to  assent  rashly.  Whosoever  therefore  doubts  about  anything 


134  SAINT  AUGUSTINE 

else,  ought  not  to  doubt  of  all  these  things;  which  if  they  were 
not,  he  would  not  be  able  to  doubt  of  anything, 

15.  They  who  think  the  mind  to  be  either  a  body  or  the 
combination  or  tempering  of  the  body,  will  have  all  these  things 
to  seem  to  be  in  a  subject,  so  that  the  substance  is  air,  or  fire,  or 
some  other  corporeal  thing,  which  they  think  to  be  the  mind; 
but  that  the  understanding  is  in  this  corporeal  thing  as  its 
quality,  so  that  this  coporeal  thing  is  the  subject,  but  the 
understanding  is  in  the  subject,  viz.  that  the  mind  is  the  sub- 
ject, which  they  rule  to  be  a  corporeal  thing,  but  the  under- 
standing, or  any  other  of  those  things  which  we  have  mentioned 
as  certain  to  us,  is  in  that  subject.  They  also  hold  nearly  the 
same  opinion  who  deny  the  mind  itself  to  be  body,  but  think  it 
to  be  the  combination  or  tempering  together  of  the  body;  for 
there  is  this  difference,  that  the  former  say  that  the  mind  itself 
is  the  substance,  in  which  the  understanding  is,  as  in  a  subject; 
but  the  latter  say  that  the  mind  itself  is  in  a  subject,  viz.  in  the 
body,  of  which  it  is  the  combination  or  tempering  together. 
And  hence,  by  consequence,  what  else  can  they  think,  except 
that  the  understanding  also  is  in  the  same  body  as  in  a  subject? 

16.  And  all  these  do  not  perceive  that  the  mind  knows  itself, 
even  when  it  seeks  for  itself,  as  we  have  already  shown.  But 
nothing  is  at  all  rightly  said  to  be  known  while  its  substance  is 
not  known.  And  therefore,  when  the  mind  knows  itself,  it 
knows  its  own  substance;  and  when  it  is  certain  about  itself, 
it  is  certain  about  its  own  substance.  But  it  is  certain  about 
itself,  as  those  things  which  are  said  above  prove  convincingly ; 
although  it  is  not  at  all  certain  whether  itself  is  air,  or  fire,  or 
some  body,  or  some  function  of  body.  Therefore  it  is  not  any 
of  these.  And  that  whole  which  is  bidden  to  know  itself,  belongs 
to  this,  that  it  is  certain  that  it  is  not  any  of  those  things  of 
which  it  is  uncertain,  and  is  certain  that  it  is  that  only,  which 
only  it  is  certain  that  it  is.  For  it  thinks  in  this  way  of  fire, 
or  air,  and  whatever  else  of  the  body  it  thinks  of.  Neither 
can  it  in  any  way  be  brought  to  pass  that  it  should  so  think 
that  which  itself  is,  as  it  thinks  that  which  itself  is  not.  Since 
it^thinks  all  these  things  through  an  imaginary  phantasy, 


ON  THE  TRINITY        .  135 

whether  fire,  or  air,  or  this  or  that  body,  or  that  part  or  com- 
bination and  tempering  together  of  the  body :  nor  assuredly  is 
it  said  to  be  all  those  things,  but  some  one  of  them.  But  if 
it  were  any  one  of  them,  it  would  think  this  one  in  a  different 
manner  from  the  rest,  viz.  not  through  an  imaginary  phantasy, 
as  absent  things  are  thought,  which  either  themselves  or  some  of 
like  kind  have  been  touched  by  the  bodily  sense;  but  by  some 
inward,  not  feigned,  but  true  presence  (for  nothing  is  more 
present  to  it  than  itself) ;  just  as  it  thinks  that  itself  lives,  and 
remembers,  and  understands,  and  wills.  For  it  knows  these 
things  in  itself,  and  does  not  imagine  them  as  though  it  had 
touched  them  by  the  sense  outside  itself,  as  corporeal  things  are 
touched.  And  if  it  attaches  nothing  to  itself  from  the  thought 
of  these  things,  so  as  to  think  itself  to  be  something  of  the  kind, 
then  whatsoever  remains  to  it  from  itself,  that  alone  is  itself. 

CHAPTER  XL   MEMORY,    UNDERSTANDING, 
AND  WILL 

17.  Putting  aside,  then,  for  a  little  while  all  other  things,  of 
which  the  mind  is  certain  concerning  itself,  let  us  especially 
consider  and  discuss  these  three  —  memory,  understanding, 
will.  For  we  may  commonly  discern  in  these  three  the  charac- 
ter of  the  abilities  of  the  young  also;  since  the  more  tenaciously 
and  easily  a  boy  remembers,  and  the  more  acutely  he  under- 
stands, and  the  more  ardently  he  studies,  the  more  praise- 
worthy is  he  in  point  of  ability.  But  when  the  question  is  about 
any  one's  learning,  then  we  ask  not  how  solidly  and  easily  he 
remembers,  or  how  shrewdly  he  understands;  but  what  it  is 
that  he  remembers,  and  what  it  is  that  he  understands.  And 
because  the  mind  is  regarded  as  praiseworthy,  not  only  as  being 
learned,  but  also  as  being  good,  one  gives  heed  not  only  to 
what  he  remembers  and  what  he  understands,  but  also  to  what 
he  wishes;  not  how  ardently  he  wishes,  but  first  what  it  is  he 
wishes,  and  then  how  greatly  he  wishes  it.  For  the  mind  that 
loves  eagerly  is  then  to  be  praised,  when  it  loves  that  which 
ought  to  be  loved  eagerly.  Since,  then,  we  speak  of  these  three 


136  SAINT  AUGUSTINE 

—  ability,  knowledge,  use  —  the  first  of  these  is  to  be  considered 
under  the  three  heads,  of  what  a  man  can  do  in  memory,  and 
understanding,  and  will.  The  second  of  them  is  to  be  consid- 
ered in  regard  to  that  which  any  one  has  in  his  memory  and  in 
his  understanding,  whither  he  has  attained  by  a  studious  will. 
But  the  third,  viz.  use,  lies  in  the  will,  which  handles  those 
things  that  are  contained  in  the  memory  and  understanding, 
whether  it  refer  them  to  anything  further,  or  rest  satisfied  with 
them  as  an  end.  For  to  use,  is  to  take  up  something  into  the 
power  of  the  will ;  and  to  enjoy,  is  to  use  with  joy,  not  any  longer 
of  hope,  but  of  the  actual  thing.  Accordingly,  every  one  who 
enjoys,  uses;  for  he  takes  up  something  into  the  power  of  the 
will,  wherein  he  also  is  satisfied  as  with  an  end.  But  not  every 
one  who  uses,  enjoys,  if  he  has  sought  after  that,  which  he  takes 
up  into  the  power  of  the  will,  not  on  account  of  the  thing  itself, 
but  on  account  of  something  else. 

i8.  Since,  then,  these  three,  memory,  understanding,  will, 
are  not  three  lives,  but  one  life;  nor  three  minds,  but  one  mind; 
it  follows  certainly  that  neither  are  they  three  substances,  but 
one  substance.  Since  memory,  which  is  called  life,  and  mind, 
and  substance,  is  so  called  in  respect  to  itself;  but  it  is  called 
memory,  relatively  to  something.  And  I  should  say  the  same 
also  of  understanding  and  of  will,  since  they  are  called  under- 
standing and  will  relatively  to  something;  but  each  in  respect 
to  itself  is  life,  and  mind,  and  essence.  And  hence  these  three 
are  one,  in  that  they  are  one  life,  one  mind,  one  essence;  and 
whatever  else  they  are  severally  called  in  respect  to  themselves, 
they  are  called  also  together,  not  plurally,  but  in  the  singular 
number.  But  they  are  three,  in  that  wherein  they  are  mutually 
referred  to  each  other;  and  if  they  were  not  equal,  and  this  not 
only  each  to  each,  but  also  each  to  all,  they  certainly  could  not 
mutually  contain  each  other;  for  not  only  is  each  contained  by 
each,  but  also  all  by  each.  For  I  remember  that  I  have  mem- 
ory, and  understanding,  and  will;  and  I  understand  that  I 
understand,  and  will,  and  remember;  and  I  will  that  I  will,  and 
remember,  and  understand ;  and  I  remember  together  my  whole 
memory,  and  understanding,  and  will.  For  that  of  my  memory 


ON  THE  TRINITY  137 

which  I  do  not  remember,  is  not  in  my  memory;  and  nothing  is 
so  much  in  the  memory  as  memory  itself.  Therefore  I  remem- 
ber the  whole  memory.  Also,  whatever  I  understand  I  know 
that  I  understand,  and  I  know  that  I  will  whatever  I  will;  but 
whatever  I  know  I  remember.  Therefore  I  remember  the  whole 
of  my  understanding,  and  the  whole  of  my  will.  Likewise,  when 
I  understand  these  three  things,  I  understand  them  together  as 
whole.  For  there  is  none  of  things  intelligible  which  I  do  not 
understand,  except  what  I  do  not  know;  but  what  I  do  not 
know,  I  neither  remember,  nor  will.  Therefore,  whatever  of 
things  intelligible  I  do  not  understand,  it  follows  also  that  I 
neither  remember  nor  will.  And  whatever  of  things  intelligible 
I  remember  and  will,  it  follows  that  I  understand.  My  will  also 
embraces  my  whole  understanding  and  my  whole  memory, 
whilst  I  use  the  whole  that  I  understand  and  remember.  And, 
therefore,  while  all  are  mutually  comprehended  by  each,  and  as 
wholes,  each  as  a  whole  is  equal  to  each  as  a  whole,  and  each  as 
a  whole  at  the  same  time  to  all  as  wholes;  and  these  three  are 
one,  one  life,  one  mind,  one  essence. 


THOMAS  AQUINAS 

(1225-1274) 

SUMMA  THEOLOGICA 

Translated  from  the  Latin*  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

QUESTION  LXXVI.  RATIONALITY  THE  ESSENTIAL 
FORM  IN  MAN 

Article  j.  Are  there  besides  the  Rational  Soul  in  Man,  other  Souls 
different  in  Essence  ? 

(a)  It  would  appear  that  beside  the  rational  soul  in  man 
other  souls  essentially  different  exist,  to  wit,  the  sensitive  and 
nutritive. 

I.  For  what  is  perishable  does  not  belong  to  the  same  sub- 
stance as  what  is  imperishable.  But  the  rational  soul  is  imper- 
ishable, whereas  the  other  souls,  that  is,  the  nutritive  and  the 
sensitive,  are  perishable.  It  is  not  possible,  therefore,  that  there 
is  in  man  a  single  essence  of  a  rational,  sensitive,  and  nutritive 
soul. 

II.  If  it  be  said  that  the  sensitive  soul  of  man  is  imperishable 
there  is  opposed  to  such  a  view,  the  declaration  of  Aristotle 
(10  Metaph.),  that  what  is  perishable  differs  in  kind  from  that 
which  is  imperishable.  But  the  sensitive  soul  in  the  horse, 
lion,  and  other  animals  is  perishable.  If  therefore  it  were 
imperishable  in  man,  then  the  sensitive  soul  in  man  and  brute 
would  not  be  of  the  same  kind.  Nevertheless  that  is  called 
animal  which  has  a  sensitive  soul.  Animal  would  therefore  not 
be  the  common  genus  for  man  and  the  other  animals.  But  this 
is  incongruous. 

*  Freely  translated  from  Thomas  Aquinas' Summa  Theologica,  Basil,  1485; 
in  his  Opera  Omnia,  Romae,  1889,  vol.  v. 


SUMMA  THEOLOGICA  139 

III.  Aristotle  says  "the  embryo  is  first  animal,  and  then 
man"  (2  de  Gener,  c.  3).  But  this  would  not  be  possible  if  the 
sensitive  soul  had  the  same  essence  as  the  rational.  For  the 
animal  is  thus  designated  because  of  its  sensitive  soul;  and 
man  is  so  called  because  of  his  rational  soul.  Consequently  there 
is  in  man  no  single  essence  composed  of  a  sensitive  and  a  ra- 
tional soul. 

IV.  Aristotle  says  (8  Metaph.)  "  the  genus  of  being  is  derived 
from  the  matter,  but  the  difference  from  the  essential  form." 
Now  rationality  which  is  the  specific  difference  in  man  is 
derived  from  the  rational  soul;  but  the  animal  is  so  called 
because  it  has  a  body  animated  by  a  sensitive  soul.  The  ra- 
tional soul,  therefore,  is  related  to  the  body  animated  by  the 
sensitive  soul,  as  form  is  to  matter.  The  rational  soul  is  not, 
therefore,  identical  in  essence  with  the  sensitive  soul  in  man, 
but  presupposes  the  latter  as  its  substrate  matter. 

Bui  on  the  other  hand  it  should  be  said:  we  do  not  admit  two 
souls  in  one  and  the  same  man,  as  Jacobus  and  the  other  Syri- 
ans affirm,  to  wit,  an  animal  "soul  which  animates  the  body, 
and  is  mixed  with  the  blood,  and  a  rational  soul  which  ministers 
to  the  reason;  but  there  is  a  single  soul  in  man  which  animates 
the  body  by  its  presence,  and  orders  by  its  own  principle  of 
reason"  {lib.  de  eccl.  dogm.  c.  15). 

{h)  I  reply  that  Plato  postulated  {Timceus)  in  one  body  dif- 
ferent souls,  distinguished  likewise  by  their  organs,  to  which  he 
attributed  diverse  vital  functions,  declaring  that  there  is  a 
nutritive  faculty  in  the  liver,  an  appetitive  faculty  in  the  heart, 
and  a  rational  faculty  in  the  brain. 

Aristotle  refutes  (2  de  Anima,  c.  2)  this  view  so  far  as  it  con- 
cerns those  powers  of  the  soul  which  in  their  activities  employ 
bodily  organs.  His  reason  is  that  in  case  of  those  animals  which 
though  cut  in  two  still  live,  the  different  operations  of  the  soul 
in  any  one  part  are  still  found,  such  as  feeling  and  desire.  But 
this  would  not  be  the  case  if  diverse  principles  of  psychical 
activities,  differing  essentially  from  one  another,  were  ascribed 
to  the  different  parts  of  the  body.  But  with  regard  to  the 
rational  soul  he  appears  to  have  left  it  an  open  question, 


I40  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

whether  it  is  separated  from  the  other  powers  of  the  soul  only 
by  virtue  of  reason,  or  also  in  location. 

The  opinion  of  Plato  would  indeed  be  justified,  if  one  supy- 
posed  the  soul  were  united  to  the  body  not  as  form,  but  as 
moving  principle,  as  Plato  assumed.  For  in  that  case  no- 
thing incongruous  results,  if  the  same  mobile  object  be  moved 
by  different  moving  forces,  especially  in  its  different  sub- 
ordinate parts. 

But  if  we  assume  that  the  soul  is  united  to  the  body  as  its 
form,  it  is  then  wholly  impossible  that  several  souls,  differing 
essentially  from  one  another,  should  have  existence  in  a  single 
body.  This  can  be  clearly  shown  in  three  ways. 

1.  The  animal  would  not  have  unity  of  being  in  which  there 
were  several  souls.  Nothing  has  simple  unity,  save  through 
form  alone,  by  which  a  thing  has  its  being.  For  from  the  same 
form  that  a  thing  derives  entity,  it  derives  unity;  and  therefore 
what  are  designated  by  different  forms  are  not  singly  one,  as 
for  instance  a  white  man.  If  therefore  man  were  a  living  being 
by  virtue  of  some  one  form,  that'is  the  vegetative  soul;  animal 
by  virtue  of  another  form,  the  sensitive  soul;  and  were  a  think- 
ing being  by  virtue  of  another  form,  the  rational  soul,  he  would 
not  then  be  singly  one.  Thus  Aristotle  also  argues  (8  Metaph.), 
as  against  Plato,  that  if  there  were  one  idea  of  an  animal,  and 
another  of  a  biped,  there  would  be  no  single  entity  of  a  biped 
animal.  Accordingly  he  asks  (i  deAnima),  in  answer  to  those 
who  assume  different  souls  in  the  same  body,  what  then  holds 
together  these  diverse  souls,  that  is,  what  makes  a  unity  of 
them.  It  is  not  possible  to  say  that  they  are  made  indeed  into 
a  unity  through  the  body;  for  the  soul  contains  the  body  and 
makes  it  to  be  one,  rather  than  the  reverse. 

2.  This  appears  impossible  by  the  mode  of  predication.  For 
the  attributes  which  embody  different  forms  in  the  same  thing 
are  predicable  of  one  another,  either  accidentally,  or  reciprocally. 
If  these  forms  have  no  relation  to  one  another,,  as  if  one  were  to 
say  that  what  is  white  may  also  be  sweet,  then  the  attribute 
does  not  depend  on  the  substance  itself,  but  arises  from  other 
causes,  since  it  is  not  in  the  essence  of  white  to  be  sweet.  Or,  if 


SUMMA  THEOLOGICA  141 

the  attributes  are  naturally  related  they  will  be  predicated 
per  se,  according  to  the  second  definition  of  per  se,  because  the 
subject  then  appears  in  the  definition  of  the  predicate.  Thus  I 
can  say,  the  surface  must  precede  the  colour,  if  the  surface  of  the 
body  is  coloured,  for  the  existence  of  a  surface  must  precede  the 
concept  of  colour.  Man  is  therefore  owing  to  certain  forms  said 
to  be  Sinanimal,  and  to  other  forms  a  man.  The  affirmation ' man 
is  an  animal,'  therefore,  must  be  either  purely  'accidental,* 
or,  one  of  the  souls  must  precede  the  other.  But  the  former 
statement  is  manifestly  false,  because  animal  is  predicated  of 
man  per  se,  and  not  per  accidens;  and  the  latter  is  untrue,  be- 
cause man  is  not  contained  in  the  definition  of  animal,  but  the 
reverse.  It  therefore  follows,  that  there  can  only  be  one  and  the 
same  form  from  which  it  results,  both  that  man  is  animal,  and 
that  he  is  also  man.  If  it  were  otherwise  man  would  not  be 
what  is  designated  by  animal,  since  the  necessary  attribute  for 
animal  would  be  predicated  only  accidentally  of  man. 

3.  Again  this  appears  impossible  because  of  the  fact,  that  one 
activity  of  the  soul  inhibits  another,  if  it  be  very  intense.  This 
would  by  no  means  happen  unless  the  principle  of  action  in 
man  were  in  essence  one.  It  follows,  therefore,  that  there  is  only 
one  soul  as  to  number  in  man,  which  must  be  deemed  at  the 
same  time  nutritive,  sensitive,  and  rational. 

How  this  can  happen  may  easily  be  understood  by  anyone 
who  pays  heed  to  the  differences  of  species  and  of  forms.  For 
the  forms  and  species  of  things  differ  from  one  another,  in  that 
•one  is  more  or  less  perfect  than  another.  Thus  plants  are  more 
perfect  than  inanimate  objects;  animals  again  rank  above 
plants;  and  man  in  turn  rises  above  the  beasts.  And  among  the 
individuals  of  the  same  class  there  are  also  varying  degrees  of 
perfection.  For  this  reason  Aristotle  compares  (8  M  eta  ph.)  the 
forms  of  species  to  numbers,  which  differ  in  type  according  as  a 
unit  is  added  or  subtracted.  And  he  compares  (2  de  Anima)  the 
different  souls  to  figures  in  which  one  contains  another,  and  yet 
exceeds  it.  In  like  manner  the  rational  soul  contains  within  its 
powers,  both  what  belongs  to  the  sensitive  soul  of  the  brutes,  and 
likewise  to  the  nutritive  soul  of  the  plant.  The  surface,  therefore, 


142  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

which  has  the  figure  of  a  pentagon,  also  is  not  by  one  figure  in  it 
a  square,  and  by  another  a  pentagon;  for  in  that  case  the  square 
would  be  superfluous,  since  it  is  contained  in  the  pentagon. 
Thus  Socrates  also  is  not  by  virtue  of  one  soul  a  man,  and  by 
virtue  of  another  an  animal ;  but  he  is  both,  through  one  and  the 
same  soul. 

(c)  I.  The  sensitive  soul  is  imperishable,  not  because  of  its 
sensitive  nature,  but  because  it  possesses  rationality.  If  the  soul 
be  thus  capable  only  of  being  sensitive,  it  is  perishable;  but  if  it 
has  with  the  sensitive  nature  also  rationality,  it  is  imperishable. 
For  though  the  sensitive  does  not  impart  incorruptibility, 
nevertheless  it  is  impossible  to  dissociate  incorruptibility  from 
the  rational. 

II.  Forms  do  not  belong  to  species  and  to  genus,  but  the 
composites.  Man  however  is  mortal,  as  are  all  other  animals. 
The  difference  therefore  between  the  perishable  and  imperish- 
able, which  proceeds  from  the  forms,  does  not  cause  man  to 
differ  in  genus  from  the  other  animals. 

III.  The  embryo  has  at  first  only  a  sensitive  soul.  If  this  be 
superseded,  it  receives  a  more  perfect  one,  which  is  both  sensi- 
tive and  rational.^ 

IV.  One  should  not  apply  different  kinds  of  reasoning  or 
logical  deduction,  which  are  involved  in  methods  of  cognition, 
to  determine  diversity  in  natural  object.  For  in  reasoning  it  is 
possible  to  apprehend  one  and  the  same  thing  in  different  ways. 
Hence,  since  the  rational  soul  contains  in  its  powers  everything 
that  belongs  to  the  sensitive  soul,  and  also  something  more;  the  ' 
reason  too  can  distinguish  from  itself,  what  pertains  to  the 
powers  of  the  sensitive  soul,  and  regard  it  as  something  in- 
complete and  material.  Moreover,  because  it  finds  this  incom- 
pleteness to  be  something  common  to  man  and  toother  animals, 
it  formulates  therefrom  the  nature  of  the  genus.  But  that  in 
which  the  rational  soul  exceeds  and  surpasses  the  sensitive 
soul,  it  regards  as  the  forming  and  perfecting  principle  which 
differentiates  the  being  of  man. 

^  This  is  more  fully  developed  by  Thomas  Aquinas  in  Question  cxviii, 
Art.  2  of  the  Summa  Theologica. 


SUMMA  THEOLOGICA  143 

QUESTION   LXXVL     THE    RELATION   OF   SOUL 
AND   BODY 

Article  VI.    Is  the  Soul  united  to  the  Body  without  any  further 
Intermediation  ? 

(a)  It  would  appear  that  the  rational  soul  is  united  to  the 
body  by  the  intermediation  of  certain  special  properties.    For : 

I.  Every  form  exists  in  matter  suited  and  adjusted  to  it.  But 
such  preadjustment  to  the  form  is  effected  by  certain  accidents. 
Hence  some  accidental  properties  must  be  thought  present 
in  matter  before  the  entrance  of  the  soul  as  substantial  form. 

II.  Different  forms  of  one  and  the  same  species  are  adapted 
to  different  parts  of  matter.  But  different  parts  presuppose  the 
apportioning  of  measurable  quantities.  Therefore  one  cannot 
assume  such  apportioning  of  matter  before  the  entrance  of  sub- 
stantial forms,  of  which  many  unite  in  one  species. 

III.  The  spiritual  effects  the  body  through  its  operating 
activity.  But  the  activity  of  the  soul  is  its  intellectual  power. 
Therefore  the  soul  is  united  to  the  body  by  means  of  its  intel- 
lectual power,  which  is  so  to  speak  an  accidental  property. 

But  on  the  other  hand  it  should  be  said:  Every  such  property 
exists  posterior  to  substance,  and  thus  presupposes  both  time 
and  reason  (7  Metaph.).  Therefore  the  accidental  form  cannot 
be  thought  as  existing  in  the  matter  before  the  soul  is  there 
as  substantial  form. 

{h)  I  answer:  if  the  soul  were  only  the  mover  of  the  body, 
nothing  need  be  said  against  this  view.  On  the  contrary,  it 
would  be  necessary  to  assume  that  particular  properties  in- 
termediate between  soul  and  body;  namely,  upon  the  part  of  the 
soul  the  ability  to  move  the  body,  and  upon  the  part  of  the 
body,  its  moveability. 

But  since  the  rational  soul  is  the  substantial  form  of  the 
body,  it  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  any  accidental  inter- 
mediation between  the  soul  and  body,  or  between  any  sub- 
stantial form  and  its  matter.  Since  matter  is  potentially  dis- 
posed in  a  certain  order  for  all  actualities,  that  which  in  point 


144  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

of  simplicity  is  first  in  actualities  is  first  in  matter.  But  the  first 
of  all  actualities  is  being.  It  is  impossible,  therefore,  to  conceive 
a  substance  as  either  cold,  or  to  have  size,  before  it  has  actual 
existence.  But  everything  has  actual  existence  in  virtue  of  its 
substantial  form.  Therefore,  it  is  impossible  that  there  should 
be  any  preparatory  accidental  quality  in  the  matter  before  the 
substantial  form;  and  consequently  nothing  in  the  body  before 
the  soul. 

(c)  To  the  first  position  we  must  say,  as  is  clear  from  the 
previous  discussion,  that  a  form  of  more  perfect  powers  com- 
prises whatever  inferior  forms  there  are.  Therefore  one  and  the 
same  existing  form  perfects  its  matter  in  different  grades  of 
perfection.  It  is  one  and  the  same  essential  form  by  which  man 
has  being,  possesses  body,  is  living,  is  animal,  and  is  man.  It 
is  now  apparent,  that  certain  peculiar  properties  corresp)ond  to 
every  one  of  these  different  kinds  of  actuality.  Hence  as  matter 
is  conceived  as  perfected  in  being  before  it  can  be  apprehended 
as  corporeal,  so  the  properties  which  accompany  being  are 
conceived  before  their  incorporation.  So  too  adjustments  of 
matter  are  conceived  before  the  form,  not  as  if  these  were 
present  in  actual  being,  but  because  they  accompany  its 
activities. 

II.  The  kinds  of  magnitude  which  are  the  necessary  proper- 
ties of  materiality,  correspond  to  those  which  belong  in  general  to 
matter.  Matter,  therefore,  can  be  viewed  as  already  corporeal, 
and  of  various  magnitudes,  and  yet  be  regarded  as  different  in 
its  various  parts;  and  therefore  as  capable;  of  receiving  a  further 
degree  of  perfection  in  its  diverse  forms.  For  though  it  is  always 
one  and  the  same  form  in  its  essence,  through  which  the  differ- 
ent degrees  of  perfection  are  attributed  to  matter,  still  reason 
makes  distinctions  in  these  perfections. 

III.  The  spiritual  substance  that  is  united  to  the  body 
merely  as  its  motive  force,  is  united  to  it  by  its  potential  and 
actual  powers.  But  the  intellective  soul  is  united  to  the  body, 
as  form  in  its  absolute  essence.  It  however  regulates  the  body 
by  its  potential  and  actual  powers. 


SUMMA  THEOLOGICA  145 

QUESTION  LXXXII.    TEE  SUPERIORITY  OF 
REASON  TO  WILL 

Article  III.  Is  the  Nature  of  Reason  superior  to  that  of  Will  ? 

(a)  This  appears  not  to  be  the  case.  For: 

I.  The  final  cause  or  the  good  is  the  object  of  the  will.  But 
the  final  cause  is  the  first  and  highest  of  causes.  The  will,  there- 
fore, is  the  first  and  highest  of  the  faculties. 

II.  Natural  objects  ascend  from  the  imperfect  to  the  perfect. 
Thus  also  in  the  faculties  of  the  soul,  the  order  of  progress  is  from 
the  senses  to  the  reason,  which  is  superior.  But  the  natural  pro- 
cess is  from  an  act  of  mind  to  an  act  of  will.  The  will  is  there- 
fore superior  to  and  more  perfect  than  the  intellect. 

III.  States  of  mind  correspond  to  their  potencies.  But  love 
which  is  a  state  of  mind  achieved  by  the  will  stands  as  the 
highest  virtue.  For  it  is  written:  " Though  I  know  all  mysteries 
and  have  all  faith  but  have  not  love  I  am  nothing."  i  Cor.  13, 
v.  2.   The  will  is  therefore  a  higher  potency  than  the  intellect. 

On  the  other  hand,  Aristotle  gives  (10  Ethics,  7)  the  first 
place- among  the  faculties  to  reason. 

I.  I  answer,  the  rank  of  a  faculty  in  relation  to  others  can 
be  viewed:  (i)  in  accordance  to  the  nature  possessed  by  each 
absolutely;  and  (2)  in  accordance  to  a  certain  aspect  only 
relatively. 

If  the  first  view  be  considered,  it  is  self-evident  that  the 
reason  is  superior  to  the  will.  For  the  nature  of  a  faculty  is 
judged  according  to  its  objects.  Now  the  object  of  the  reason 
is  more  simple,  absolute,  and  less  conditioned,  than  that  of 
the  will.  For  the  object  of  the  reason  is  the  very  idea  of  de- 
sirable good.  The  will  however  is  directed  towards  a  desirable 
good,  the  idea  of  which  is  in  the  reason.  Now  the  more  simple, 
the  less  conditioned,  and  the  more  detached  from  particulars, 
anything  is,  so  much  the  higher  does  it  stand  in  the  rank  and 
the  value  of  its  being.  The  faculty  of  reason  is,  therefore,  in 
its  nature  more  noble,  and  more  sublime,  than  that  of  the  will. 

Relatively,  however,  and  in  comparison  with  something  else, 


146  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

it  may  chance  at  times  that  the  will  stands  higher  than  the 
intellect.  This  is  true  because  the  object  of  the  will  may  belong 
to  a  higher  type  of  being  than  the  object  of  the  reason.  Thus  I 
could  say  that  hearing  is  superior  to  sight,  because  the  object 
from  which  the  object  proceeds  is  more  noble  than  that  which 
has  the  color,  although  color  in  itself  may  stand  higher  and  be 
purer  than  soimd.  In  a  similar  manner,  the  action  of  the  intel- 
lect consists  in  this,  that  the  nature  of  the  thing  known  is  com- 
prehended by  the  knower;  but  the  action  of  the  will  is  con- 
summated in  the  will's  inclining  to  the  object  as  it  is  in  itself, 
whatever  its  nature  may  be.  For  this  reason,  Aristotle  says, 
"good  and  evil  which  are  the  objects  of  the  will  belong  to 
things;  true  and  false  which  are  objects  of  the  intellect  belong 
to  the  mind  "  (6  Metaph.).  When,  therefore,  the  actual  being  in 
which  the  good  exists  as  object  of  reason,  is  superior  to  the  soul 
itself  in  which  its  nature  is  comprehended,  then  in  comparison 
to  such  an  object,  the  will  is  superior  to  the  reason.  But  if  the 
desired  object  is  lower  than  the  soul,  then  the  reason  in  com- 
parison to  such  an  object  is  superior  to  the  will.  It  is,  there- 
fore, better  to  love  God,  than  merely  to  know  God;  and,  con- 
versely,- it  is  better  only  to  know  corporeal  things,  than  to 
love  them.  Nevertheless  absolutely,  reason  is  superior  to  will. 

(c)  II.  Whatever  is  earlier  in  time  or  origin  is  the  more 
imperfect.  For  in  one  and  the  same  thing,  the  potency  pre- 
cedes activity.  At  first  there  is  the  imperfect,  later  the  per- 
fected. But  that  which  is  before  absolutely,  and  according  to 
the  order  of  nature,  is  the  more  perfect.  Thus  the  activity  is 
earlier  than  the  potency.  And  in  like  manner,  the  reason 
precedes  the  will,  as  the  moving  force  precedes  that  which  is 
moved,  and  as  activity  precedes  the  affected.  For  in  so  far  as 
the  good  is  conceived  by  the  reason,  it  moves  the  will. 

III.  Through  love  we  cleave  to  God,  who  is  transcendently 
raised  above  the  soul.  For  that  reason,  the  will  is  in  this  in- 
stance superior  to  the  reason. 


THOMAS  HOBBES 

(1588-1679) 

HUMAN    NATURE* 

CHAPTER    I.      INTRODUCTION 

1.  The  true  and  perspicuous  explication  of  the  elements  of 
laws  natural  and  politic  {which  is  my  present  scope)  dependeth 
upon  the  knowledge  of  what  is  human  nature,  what  is  body  politic, 
and  what  it  is  we  call  a  law;  concerning  which  points,  as  the  writ- 
ings of  men  from  antiquity  downwards  have  still  increased,  so 
also  have  the  doubts  and  controversies  concerning  the  same :  and 
seeing  that  true  knowledge  begetteth  not  doubt  nor  controversy, 
but  knowledge,  it  is  manifest  from  the  present  controversies, 
that  they,  which  have  heretofore  written  thereof,  have  not  well 
understood  their  own  subject. 

2.  Harm  I  can  do  none,  though  I  err  no  less  than  they;  for  I 
shall  leave  men  but  as  they  are,  in  doubt  and  dispute:  but,  in- 
tending not  to  take  any  principle  upon  trust,  but  only  to  put 
men  in  mind  of  what  they  know  already,  or  may  know  by  their 
own  experience,  I  hope  to  err  the  less;  and  when  I  do,  it  must 
proceed  from  too  hasty  concluding,  which  I  will  endeavour  as 
much  as  I  can  to  avoid. 

3.  On  the  other  side,  if  reasoning  aright  win  not  consent,  which 
may  very  easily  happen,  from  them  that  being  confident  of 
their  own  knowledge  weigh  not  what  is  said,  the  fault  is  not 
mine,  but  theirs;  for  as  it  is  my  part  to  shew  my  reasons,  so  it  is 
theirs  to  bring  attention. 

4.  Man's  nature  is  the  sum  of  his  natural  faculties  and  powers, 
as  the  faculties  of  nutrition,  motion,  generation,  sense,  reason, 

*  Humane  Nature,  or  the  fundamental  elements  of  policie.  London,  1651.  Re- 
printed here  from  Hobbes'  English  Works,  collected  and  edited  by  Sir  William 
Molesworth,  London,  1839,  vol.  iv. 


148  THOMAS  HOBBES 

&'c.  These  powers  we  do  unanimously  call  natural,  and  are  con- 
tained in  the  definition  of  man,  under  these  words,  animal  and 
rational. 

5.  According  to  the  two  principal  parts  of  man,  I  divide  his 
faculties  into  two  sorts,  faculties  of  the  body,  and  faculties  of  the 
mind. 

6.  Since  the  minute  and  distinct  anatomy  of  the  powers  of 
the  body  is  nothing  necessary  to  the  present  purpose,  I  will  only 
sum  them  up  in  these  three  heads,  power  nutritive,  power  mo- 
tive, and  power  generative. 

7.  Of  the  powers  of  the  mind  there  be  two  sorts;  cognitive, 
imaginative,  or  conceptive,  and  motive;  and  first  of  cognitive. 

For  the  understanding  of  what  I  mean  by  the  power  cogni- 
tive, we  must  remember  and  acknowledge  that  there  be  in  our 
minds  continually  certain  images  or  conceptions  of  the  things 
without  us,  insomuch  that  if  a  man  could  be  alive,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  world  annihilated,  he  should  nevertheless  retain  the 
image  thereof,  and  all  those  things  which  he  had  before  seen  or 
perceived  in  it;  every  one  by  his  own  experience  knowing,  that 
the  absence  or  destruction  of  things  once  imagined  doth  not  cause 
the  absence  or  destruction  of  the  imagination  itself.  This  imagery 
and  representations  of  the  qualities  of  the  thing  without,  is  that 
we  call  our  conception,  imagination,  ideas,  notice  or  knowledge  of 
them ;  and  the  faculty  or  power  by  which  we  are  capable  of  such 
knowledge,  is  that  I  here  call  cognitive  power,  or  conceptive,  the 
power  of  knowing  or  conceiving. 

CHAPTER  II.     THE   SENSE   AND    ITS   MAIN 
DECEPTION 

1.  Having  declared  what  I  mean  by  the  word  conception, 
and  other  words  equivalent  thereunto,  I  come  to  the  concep- 
tions themselves,  to  shew  their  differences,  their  causes,  and 
the  manner  of  the  production,  so  far  as  is  necessary  for  this 
place. 

2.  Originally  all  conceptions  proceed  from  the  action  of  the 
thing  itself,  whereof  it  is  the  conception :  now  when  the  action  is 


HUMAN  NATURE  149 

present,  the  conception  it  produceth  is  also  called  sense;  and  the 
thing  by  whose  action  the  same  is  produced,  is  called  the  object 
of  the  sense. 

3.  By  our  several  organs  we  have  several  conceptions  of  sev- 
eral qualities  in  the  objects;  for  by  sight  we  have  a  conception  or 
image  composed  of  colour  said  figure,  which  is  all  the  notice  and 
knowledge  the  object  imparteth  to  us  of  its  nature  by  the  eye. 
By  hearing  we  have  a  conception  called  sound,  which  is  all  the 
knowledge  we  have  of  the  quality  of  the  object  from  the  ear. 
And  so  the  rest  of  the  senses  are  also  conceptions  of  several 
qualities,  or  natures  of  their  objects. 

4.  Because  the  image  in  vision  consisting  of  colour  and  shape 
is  the  knowledge  we  have  of  the  qualities  of  the  object  of  that 
sense;  it  is  no  hard  matter  for  a  man  to  fall  into  this  opinion, 
that  the  same  colour  and  shape  are  the  very  qualities  themselves; 
and  for  the  same  cause,  that  sound  and  noise  are  the  qualities  of 
the  bell,  or  of  the  air.  And  this  opinion  hath  been  so  long  re- 
ceived, that  the  contrary  must  needs  appear  a  great  paradox; 
and  yet  the  introduction  of  species  visible  and  intelligible  (which 
is  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  that  opinion)  passing  to  and 
fro  from  the  object,  is  worse  than  any  paradox,  as  being  a  plain 
impossibility.  I  shall  therefore  endeavour  to  make  plain  these 
points : 

That  the  subject  wherein  colour  and  image  are  inherent,  is 
not  the  object  or  thing  seen. 

That  there  is  nothing  without  us  (really)  which  we  call  an 
image  or  colour. 

That  the  said  image  or  colour  is  but  an  apparition  unto  us 
of  the  motion,  agitation,  or  alteration,  which  the  object  work- 
eth  in  the  brain,  or  spirits,  or  some  internal  substance  of  the 
head. 

That  as  in  vision,  so  also  in  conceptions  that  arise  from  the 
other  senses,  the  subject  of  their  inherence  is  not  the  object,  but 
the  sentient. 

j  5.  Every  man  hath  so  much  experience  as  to  have  seen  the 
sun  and  the  other  visible  objects  by  reflection  in  the  water  and 
glasses;  and  this  alone  is  sufi&cient  for  this  conclusion,  that  col- 


ISO  THOMAS  HOBBES 

our  and  image  may  be  there  where  the  thing  seen  is  not.  But 
because  it  may  be  said  that  notwithstanding  the  image  in  the 
water  be  not  in  the  object,  but  a  thing  merely  phantastical,  yet 
there  may  be  colour  really  in  the  thing  itself:  I  will  urge  further 
this  experience,  that  divers  times  men  see  directly  the  same 
object  double,  as  two  candles  for  one,  which  may  happen  from 
distemper,  or  otherwise  without  distemper  if  a  man  will,  the 
organs  being  either  in  their  right  temper,  or  equally  distem- 
pered; the  colours  aind  figures  in  two  such  images  of  the  same 
thing  cannot  he  inherent  therein,  because  the  thing  seen  cannot 
be  in  two  places. 

One  of  these  images  therefore  is  not  inherent  in  the  object: 
but  seeing  the  organs  of  the  sight  are  then  in  equal  temper 
or  distemper,  the  one  of  them  is  no  more  inherent  than  the 
other;  and  consequently  we^V/jer  of  them  both  are  in  the  object; 
which  is  the  first  proposition,  mentioned  in  the  precedent 
number. 

6.  Secondly,  that  the  image  of  any  thing  by  reflection  in  a 
glass  or  water  or  the  like,  is  not  any  thing  in  or  behind  the  glass, 
or  in  or  under  the  water,  every  man  may  grant  to  himself;  which 
is  the  second  proposition. 

7.  For  the  third,  we  are  to  consider,  first  that  upon  every 
great  agitation  or  concussion  of  the  brain  (as  it  happeneth  from  a 
stroke,  especially  if  the  stroke  be  upon  the  eye)  whereby  the 
optic  nerve  suflfereth  any  great  violence,  there  appeareth  before 
the  eyes  a  certain  light,  which  light  is  nothing  without,  but  an 
apparition  only,  all  that  is  real  being  the  concussion  or  motion 
of  the  parts  of  that  nerve ;  from  which  experience  we  may  con- 
clude, that  apparition  of  light  is  really  nothing  but  motion  within. 
If  therefore  from  lucid  bodies  there  can  be  derived  motion,  so  as 
to  affect  the  optic  nerve  in  such  manner  as  is  proper  thereunto, 
there  will  follow  an  image  of  light  somewhere  in  that  line  by 
which  the  motion  was  last  derived  to  the  eye ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
the  object,  if  we  look  directly  on  it,  and  in  the  glass  or  water, 
when  we  look  upon  it  in  the  line  of  reflection,  which  in  effect 
is  the  third  proposition;  namely,  that  image  and  colour  is  but 
an  apparition  to  us  of  that  motion,  agitation,  or  alteration 


HUMAN  NATURE  151 

which  the  object  worketh  in  the  brain  or  spirits,  or  some  internal 
substance  in  the  head. 

8.  But  that  from  all  lucid,  shining  and  illuminate  bodies 
there  is  a  motion  produced  to  the  eye,  and,  through  the  eye,  to 
the  optic  nerve,  and  so  into  the  brain,  by  which  that  apparition 
of  light  or  colour  is  affected,  is  not  hard  to  prove.  And  first,  it  is 
evident  that  the  fire,  the  only  lucid  body  here  upon  earth, 
worketh  by  motion  equally  every  way;  insomuch  as  the  motion 
thereof  stopped  or  inclosed,  it  is  presently  extinguished,  and  no 
more  fire.  And  further,  that  that  motion,  whereby  the  fire  work- 
eth, is  dilation,  and  contraction  of  itself  alternately,  commonly 
called  scintillation  or  glowing,  is  manifest  also  by  experience. 
From  such  motion  in  the  fire  must  needs  arise  a  rejection  or  cast- 
ing from  itself  of  that  part  of  the  medium  which  is  contiguous 
to  it,  whereby  that  part  also  rejecteth  the  next,  and  so  success- 
ively one  part  beateth  back  another  to  the  very  eye;  and  in  the 
same  manner  the  exterior  part  of  the  eye  presseth  the  interior, 
(the  laws  of  refraction  still  observed).  Now  the  interior  coat  of 
the  eye  is  nothing  else  but  a  piece  of  the  optic  nerve ;  and  there- 
fore the  motion  is  still  continued  thereby  into  the  brain,  and  by 
resistance  or  reaction  of  the  brain,  is  also  a  rebound  into  the  optic 
nerve  again ;  which  we  not  conceiving  as  motion  or  rebound  from 
within,  do  think  it  is  without,  and  call  it  light;  as  hath  been  al- 
ready shewed  by  the  experience  of  a  stroke.  We  have  no  reason 
to  doubt,  that  the  fountain  of  light,  the  sun,  worketh  by  any 
other  ways  than  the  fire,  at  least  in  this  matter.  And  thus  all 
vision  hath  its  original  from  such  motion  as  is  here  described : 
for  where  there  is  no  light,  there  is  no  sight;  and  therefore  colour 
also  must  be  the  same  thing  with  light,  as  being  the  effect  of  the 
lucid  bodies:  their  difference  being  only  this,  that  when  the  light 
Cometh  directly  from  the  fountain  to  the  eye,  or  indirectly  by 
reflection  from  clean  and  polite  bodies,  and  such  as  have  not  any 
particular  motion  internal  to  alter  it,  we  call  it  light;  but  when  it 
Cometh  to  the  eye  by  reflection  from  uneven,  rough,  and  coarse 
bodies,  or  such  as  are  affected  with  internal  motion  of  their  own 
that  may  alter  it,  then  we  call  it  colour;  colour  and  light  differ- 
ing only  in  this,  that  the  one  is  pure,  and  the  other  perturbed 


152  THOMAS  HOBBES 

light.  By  that  which  hath  been  said,  not  only  the  truth  of  the 
third  proposition,  but  also  the  whole  manner  of  producing  light 
and  colour,  is  apparent. 

9.  As  colour  is  not  inherent  in  the  object,  but  an  effect  thereof 
upon  us,  caused  by  such  motion  in  the  object,  as  hath  been 
described :  so  neither  is  sound  in  the  thing  we  hear,  but  in  our- 
selves. One  manifest  sign  thereof  is,  that  as  a  man  may  see,  so 
also  he  may  hear  double  or  treble,  by  multiplication  of  echoes, 
which  echoes  are  sounds  as  well  as  the  original ;  and  not  being  in 
one  and  the  same  place,  cannot  be  inherent  in  the  body  that 
maketh  them.  Nothing  can  make  any  thing  which  is  not  in  it- 
self: the  clapper  hath  no  sound  in  it,  but  motion,  and  maketh 
motion  in  the  internal  parts  of  the  bell ;  so  the  bell  hath  motion, 
and  not  sound,  that  imparteth  motion  to  the  air;  and  the  air 
hath  motion,  but  not  sound;  the  air  imparteth  motion  by  the 
ear  and  nerve  unto  the  brain;  and  the  brain  hath  motion  but  not 
sound;  from  the  brain,  it  reboundeth  back  into  the  nerves  out- 
ward, and  thence  it  becometh  an  apparition  without,  which  we 
call  sound.  And  to  proceed  to  the  rest  of  the  senses,  it  is  appar- 
ent enough,  that  the  smell  and  taste  of  the  same  thing,  are  not  the 
same  to  every  man;  and  therefore  are  not  in  the  thing  smelt  or 
tasted,  but  in  the  men.  So  likewise  the  heat  we  feel  from  the  fire 
is  manifestly  in  us,  and  is  quite  different  from  the  heat  which  is 
in  the  fire :  for  our  heat  is  pleasure  or  pain,  according  as  it  is 
great  or  moderate;  but  in  the  coal  there  is  no  such  thing.  By  this 
the  fourth  and  last  proposition  is  proved,  viz.  that  as  in  vision, 
so  also  in  conceptions  that  arise  from  other  senses,  the  subject 
of  their  inherence  is  not  in  the  object,  but  in  the  sentient. 

10.  And  from  hence  also  it  followeth,  that  whatsoever  acci- 
dents or  qualities  our  senses  make  us  think  there  be  in  the  world, 
they  be  not  there,  but  are  seeming  and  apparitions  only:  the 
things  that  really  are  in  the  world  without  us,  are  those  motions 
by  which  these  seemings  are  caused.  And  this  is  the  great  decep- 
tion of  sense,  which  also  is  to  be  by  sense  corrected:  for  as  sense 
telleth  me,  when  I  see  directly,  that  the  colour  seemeth  to  be  in 
the  object ;  so  also  sense  telleth  me,  when  I  see  by  reflection,  what 
colour  is  not  in  the  object. 


HUAIAN  NATURE  153 

CHAPTER   III.     IMAGINATION  AND  DREAMS 

1.  As  standing  water  put  into  motion  by  the  stroke  of  a 
stone,  or  blast  of  wind,  doth  not  presently  give  over  moving  as 
soon  as  the  wind  ceaseth,  or  the  stone  settleth :  so  neither  doth 
the  effect  cease  which  the  object  hath  wrought  upon  the  brain, 
so  soon  as  ever  by  turning  aside  of  the  organs  the  object  ceaseth 
to  work ;  that  is  to  say,  though  the  sense  be  past,  the  image  or 
conception  remaineth ;  but  more  obscure  while  we  are  awake,  be- 
cause some  object  or  other  continually  plieth  and  soliciteth  our 
eyes,  and  ears,  keeping  the  mind  in  a  stronger  motion,  whereby 
the  weaker  doth  not  easily  appear.  And  this  obscure  concep- 
tion is  that  we  call  phantasy,  or  imagination:  imagination  being, 
to  define  it,  conception  remaining,  and  by  little  and  little  decay- 
ing from  after  and  the  act  of  sense. 

2.  But  when  present  sense  is  not,  as  in  sleep,  there  the  images 
remaining  after  sense,  when  there  be  many,  as  in  dreams,  are 
not  obscure,  but  strong  and  clear,  as  in  sense  itself.  The  reason  is, 
that  which  obscured  and  made  the  conceptions  weak,  namely 
sense,  and  present  operation  of  the  object,  is  removed:  for  sleep 
is  the  privation  of  the  act  of  sense,  (the  power  remaining)  and 
dreams  are  the  imagination  of  them  that  sleep. 

3.  The  causes  of  dreams,  if  they  be  natural,  are  the  actions  or 
violence  of  the  inward  parts  of  a  man  upon  his  brain,  by  which 
the  passages  of  sense  by  sleep  benumbed,  are  restored  to  their 
motion.  The  signs  by  which  this  appeareth  to  be  so,  are  the 
differences  of  dreams  (old  men  commonly  dream  oftener,  and 
have  their  dreams  more  painful  than  young)  proceeding  from 
the  different  accidents  of  man's  body,  as  dreams  of  lust,  as 
dreams  of  anger,  according  as  the  heart,  or  other  parts  within, 
work  more  or  less  upon  the  brain,  by  more  or  less  heat;  so  also 
the  descents  of  different  sorts  of  phlegm  maketh  us  a  dream  of 
different  tastes  of  meats  and  drinks;  and  I  believe  there  is  a 
reciprocation  of  motion  from  the  brain  to  the  vital  parts,  and 
back  from  the  vital  parts  to  the  brain ;  whereby  not  only  imagin- 
ation begetteth  wo/jowin  those  parts;  but  also  motion  in  those 
parts  begetteth  imagination  like  to  that  by  which  it  was  begot- 


154  THOMAS  HOBBES 

ten.  If  this  be  true,  and  that  sad  imaginations  nourish  the 
spleen,  then  we  see  also  a  cause,  why  a  strong  spleen  recipro- 
cally causeth  fearful  dreams,  and  why  the  effects  of  lascivious- 
ness  may  in  a  dream  produce  the  image  of  some  person  that  had 
caused  them.  Another  sign  that  dreams  are  caused  by  the  action 
of  the  inward  parts,  is  the  disorder  and  casual  consequence  of 
one  conception  or  image  to  another:  for  when  we  are  waking, 
the  antecedent  thought  or  conception  introduceth,  and  is  cause 
of  the  consequent,  as  the  water  followeth  a  man's  finger  upon  a 
dry  and  level  table ;  but  in  dreams  there  is  commonly  no  coher- 
ence, and  when  there  is,  it  is  by  chance,  which  must  needs  pro- 
ceed from  this,  that  the  brain  in  dreams  is  not  restored  to  its 
motion  in  every  part  alike;  whereby  it  cometh  to  pass,  that  our 
thoughts  appear  like  the  stars  between  the  flying  clouds,  not  in 
the  order  which  a  man  would  choose  to  observe  them,  but  as  the 
uncertain  flight  of  broken  clouds  permits. 

4.  As  when  the  water,  or  any  liquid  thing  moved  at  once  by 
divers  movements,  receiveth  one  motion  compounded  of  them 
all;  so  also  the  brain  or  spirit  therein,  having  been  stirred  by 
divers  objects,  composeth  an  imagination  of  divers  conceptions 
that  appeared  single  to  the  sense.  As  for  example,  the  sense 
sheweth  at  one  time  the  figure  of  a  mountain,  and  at  another 
time  the  colour  of  gold;  but  the  imagination  afterwards  hath 
them  both  at  once  in  a  golden  mountain.  From  the  same  cause 
it  is,  there  appear  unto  us  castles  in  the  air,  chimeras,  and  other 
monsters  which  are  not  in  rerum  natura,  but  have  been  conceived 
by  the  sense  in  pieces  at  several  times.  And  this  composition  is 
that  which  we  commonly  call  fiction  of  the  mind. 

5.  There  is  yet  another  kind  of  imagination,  which  for  clear- 
ness contendeth  with  sense,  as  well  as  a  dream;  and  that  is,  when 
the  action  of  sense  hath  been  long  or  vehement:  and  the  experi- 
ence thereof  is  more  frequent  in  the  sense  of  seeing,  than  the 
rest.  An  example  whereof  is,  the  image  remaining  before  the 
eye  after  looking  upon  the  sun.  Also,  those  little  images  that 
appear  before  the  eyes  in  the  dark  (whereof  I  think  every  man 
hath  experience,  but  they  most  of  all,  who  are  timorous  or 
superstitious)  are  examples  of  the  same.  And  these,  for  distinc- 
tion-sake, may  be  called  phantasms. 


HUMAN  NATURE  155 

6.  By  the  senses,  which  are  numbered  according  to  the  or- 
gans to  he  five,  we  take  notice  (as  hath  been  said  already)  of  the 
objects  without  us;  and  that  notice  is  our  conception  thereof:  but 
we  take  notice  also  some  way  or  other  of  our  conceptions:  for  when 
the  conception  of  the  same  thing  cometh  again,  we  take  notice 
that  it  is  again;  that  is  to  say,  that  we  have  had  the  same  con- 
ception before;  which  is  as  much  as  to  imagine  a  thing  past; 
which  is  impossible  to  the  sense,  which  is  only  of  things  present. 
This  therefore  may  be  accounted  a  sixth  sense,  but  internal,  (not 
external,  as  the  rest)  and  is  commonly  called  remembrance. 

7.  For  the  manner  by  which  we  take  notice  of  a  conception 
past,  we  are  to  remember,  that  in  the  definition  of  imagination, 
it  is  said  to  be  a  conception  by  little  and  little  decaying,  or  growing 
more  obscure.  An  obscure  conception  is  that  which  representeth 
the  whole  object  together,  but  none  of  the  smaller  parts  by  them- 
selves; and  as  more  or  fewer  parts  be  represented,  so  is  the  con- 
ception or  representation  said  to  be  more  or  less  clear.-  Seeing 
then  the  conception,  which  when  it  wa.s  first  produced  by  sense, 
was  clear,  and  represented  the  parts  of  the  object  distinctly;  and 
when  it  cometh  again  is  obscure,  we  find  missing  somewhat  that 
we  expected ;  by  which  we  judge  it  past  and  decayed.  For  exam- 
ple, a  man  that  is  present  in  a  foreign  city,  seeth  not  only  whole 
streets,  but  can  also  distinguish  particular  houses,  and  parts  of 
houses;  but  departed  thence,  he  cannot  distinguish  them  so 
particularly  in  his  mind  as  he  did,  some  house  or  turning  escap- 
ing him ;  yet  is  this  to  remember;  when  afterwards  there  escape 
him  more  particulars,  this  is  also  to  remember,  but  not  so  well.  In 
process  of  time,  the  image  of  the  city  returneth  but  as  a  mass  of 
building  only,  which  is  almost  to  have  forgotten  it.  Seeing  then 
remembrance  is  more  or  less,  as  we  find  more  or  less  obscurity, 
why  may  not  we  well  think  remembrance  to  be  nothing  else  but 
the  missing  of  parts,  which  every  man  expecteth  should  succeed 
after  they  have  a  conception  of  the  whole?  To  see  at  a  great 
distance  of  place,  and  to  remember  at  a  great  distance  of  time, 
is  to  have  Uke  conceptions  of  the  thing:  for  there  wanteth  dis- 
tinction of  parts  in  both;  the  one  conception  being  weak  by 
operation  at  distance,  the  other  by  decay. 


IS6  THOMAS  HOBBES 

8.  And  from  this  that  hath  been  said,  there  followeth,  that  a 
man  can  never  know  he  dreameth;  he  may  dream  he  douhteth, 
whether  it  be  a  dream  or  no :  but  the  clearness  of  the  imagina- 
tion representeth  every  thing  with  as  many  parts  as  doth  sense 
itself,  and  consequently,  he  can  take  notice  of  nothing  but  as 
present;  whereas  to  think  he  dreameth,  is  to  think  those  his  con- 
ceptions, that  is  to  say  dreams,  obscurer  than  they  were  in  the 
sense;  so  that  he  must  think  them  both  as  clear,  and  not  as 
clear  as  sense;  which  is  impossible. 

9.  From  the  same  ground  it  proceedeth,  that  men  wonder  not 
in  their  dreams  at  place  and  persons,  as  they  would  do  waking: 
for  waking,  a  man  would  think  it  strange  to  be  in  a  place  where 
he  never  was  before,  and  remember  nothing  of  how  he  came 
there;  but  in  a  dream,  there  cometh  little  of  that  kind  into  con- 
sideration. The  clearness  of  conception  in  a  dream,  taketh  away 
distrust,  unless  the  strangeness  be  excessive,  as  to  think  himself 
fallen  from  on  high  without  hurt,  and  then  most  commonly  he 
waketh. 

10.  Nor  is  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  be  so  far  deceived,  as 
when  his  dream  is  past,  to  think  it  real:  for  if  he  dream  of  such 
things  as  are  ordinarily  in  his  mind,  and  in  such  order  as  he 
useth  to  do  waking,  and  withal  that  he  laid  him  down  to  sleep 
in  the  place  where  he  findeth  himself  when  he  awaketh;  all 
which  may  happen :  I  know  no /c/atTT^/otoi^  or  mark  by  which  he 
can  discern  whether  it  were  a  dream  or  not,  and  therefore  do 
the  less  wonder  to  hear  a  man  sometimes  to  tell  his  dream  for  a 
truth,  or  to  take  it  for  a  vision. 

CHAPTER  IV.    THOUGHT 

I.  The  succession  of  conceptions  in  the  mind,  series  or  conse- 
quence of  one  after  another,  may  be  casual  and  incoherent,  as  in 
dreams  for  the  most  part;  and  it  may  be  orderly,  as  when  the 
former  thought  introduceth  the  latter;  and  this  is  discourse  of 
the  mind.  But  because  the  word  discourse  is  commonly  taken 
for  the  coherence  and  consequence  of  words,  I  will,  to  avoid 
equivocation,  call  it  discursion. 


HUMAN  NATURE  157 

2.  The  cause  of  the  coherence  or  consequence  of  one  concep- 
tion to  another,  is  their  first  coherence  or  consequence  at  that 
time  when  they  are  produced  by  sense:  as  for  example,  from  St. 
Andrew  the  mind  runneth  to  St.  Peter,  because  their  names  are 
read  together;  from  St.  Peter  to  a  stone,  for  the  same  cause;  from 
stone  to  foundation, because  we  see  them  together;  and  for  the 
same  cause,  from  foundation  to  church,  and  from  church  to 
people,  and  from  people  to  tumult:  and  according  to  this  exam- 
ple, the  mind  may  run  almost  from  anything  to  anything.  But 
as  in  the  sense  the  conception  of  cause  and  effect  may  succeed 
one  another ;  so  may  they  after  sense  in  the  imagination:  and  for 
the  most  part  they  do  so;  the  cause  whereof  is  the  appetite  of 
them,  who,  having  a  conception  of  the  end,  have  next  unto  it  a 
conception  of  the  next  means  to  that  end:  as,  when  a  man,  from 
a  thought  of  honour  to  which  he  hath  an  appetite,  cometh  to  the 
thought  of  wisdom,  which  is  the  next  means  thereunto;  and 
from  thence  to  the  thought  of  study,  which  is  the  next  means  to 
wisdom. 

3.  To  omit  that  kind  of  discursion  by  which  we  proceed  from 
anything  to  anything,  there  are  of  the  other  kind  divers  sorts :  as 
first,  in  the  senses  there  are  certain  coherences  of  conceptions, 
which  we  may  call  ranging;  examples  whereof  are;  a  man  cast- 
eth  his  eye  upon  the  ground,  to  look  about  for  some  small  thing 
lost;  the  hounds  casting  about  at  a  fault  in  hunting;  and  the 
ranging  of  spaniels :  and  herein  we  take  a  beginning  arbitrary. 

4.  Another  sort  of  discursion  is,  when  the  appetite  giveth  a 
man  his  beginning,  as  in  the  example  before,  where  honour  to 
which  a  man  hath  appetite,  maketh  him  think  upon  the  next 
means  of  attaining  it,  and  that  again  of  the  next,  &c.  And  this 
the  Latins  call  sagacitas,  and  we  may  call  hunting  or  tracing, 
as  dogs  trace  beasts  by  the  smell,  and  men  hunt  them  by 
their  footsteps;  or  as  men  hunt  after  riches,  place,  or  know- 
ledge. 

5.  There  is  yet  another  kind  of  discursion  beginning  with  the 
appetite  to  recover  something  lost,  proceeding  from  the  present 
backward,  from  thought  of  the  place  where  we  miss  at,  to  the 
thought  of  the  place  from  whence  we  came  last;  and  from  the 


iS8  THOMAS  HOBBES 

thought  of  that,  to  the  thought  of  a  place  before,  till  we  have  in 
our  mind  some  place,  wherein  we  had  the  thing  we  miss:  and 
this  is  called  reminiscence. 

6.  The  remembrance  of  succession  of  one  thing  to  another, 
that  is,  of  what  was  antecedent,  and  what  consequent,  and  what 
concomitant,  is  called  an  experiment;  whether  the  same  be  made 
by  us  voluntarily,  as  when  a  man  putteth  any  thing  into  the  fire, 
to  see  what  effect  the  fire  will  produce  upon  it:  or  not  made  by 
us,  as  when  we  remember  a  fair  morning  after  a  red  evening. 
To  have  had  many  experiments,  is  that  we  call  experience,  which 
is  nothing  else  but  remembrance  of  what  antecedents  have  been 
followed  by  what  consequents. 

7.  No  man  can  have  in  his  mind  a  conception  of  the  future, 
for  the  future  is  not  yet :  but  of  our  conceptions  of  the  past,  we 
make  a  future;  or  rather,  call  past,  future  relatively.  Thus  after 
a  man  hath  been  accustomed  to  see  like  antecedents  followed 
by  like  consequents,  whensoever  he  seeth  the  like  come  to  pass 
to  any  thing  he  had  seen  before,  he  looks  there  should  follow 
it  the  same  that  followed  then:  as  for  example,  because  a  man 
hath  often  seen  offences  followed  by  punishment,  when  he 
seeth  an  offence  in  present,  he  thinketh  punishment  to  be  con- 
sequent thereunto;  but  consequent  unto  that  which  is  present, 
men  call  future;  and  thus  we  make  remembrance  to  be  the  pre- 
vision of  things  to  come,  or  expectation  or  presumption  of  the 
future. 

8.  In  the  same  manner,  if  a  man  seeth  in  present  that  which 
he  hath  seen  before,  he  thinks  that  that  which  was  antecedent 
to  that  which  he  saw  before,  is  also  antecedent  to  that  he  pre- 
sently seeth:  as  for  example,  he  that  hath  seen  the  ashes  remain 
after  the  fire,  and  now  again  seeth  ashes,  concludeth  again 
there  hath  been  fire :  and  this  is  called  again  conjecture  of  the  past, 
or  presumption  of  the  fact. 

9.  When  a  man  hath  so  often  observed  like  antecedents  to  be 
followed  by  like  consequents,  that  whensoever  he  seeth  the  ante- 
cedent, he  looketh  again  for  the  consequent;  or  when  he  seeth 
the  consequent,  maketh  account  there  hath  been  the  like  ante- 
cedent; then  he  calleth  both  the  antecedent  and  the  consequent, 


HUMAN  NATURE  159 

signs  one  of  another,  as  clouds  are  signs  of  rain  to  come,  and 
rain  of  clouds  past. 

10.  This  taking  of  signs  by  experience,  is  that  wherein  men 
do  ordinarily  think,  the  difference  stands  between  man  and  man 
in  wisdom,  by  which  they  commonly  understand  a  man's  whole 
ability  or  power  cognitive  ;  but  this  is  an  error :  for  the  signs  are 
but  conjectural;  and  according  as  they  have  often  or  seldom 
failed,  so  their  assurance  is  more  or  less;  but  never  full  and  evi- 
dent :  for  though  a  man  have  always  seen  the  day  and  night  to 
follow  one  another  hitherto;  yet  can  he  not  thence  conclude 
they  shall  do  so,  or  that  they  have  done  so  eternally:  experi- 
ence concludeth  nothing  universally.  If  the  signs  hit  twenty  times 
for  one  missing,  a  man  may  lay  a  wager  of  twenty  to  one  of  the 
event;  but  may  not  conclude  it  for  a  truth.  But  by  this  it  is 
plain,  that  they  shall  conjecture  best,  that  have  most  experience, 
because  they  have  most  signs  to  conjecture  by:  which  is  the 
reason  old  men  are  more  prudent,  that  is,  conjecture  better, 
cceteris  paribus,  than  young:  for,  being  old,  they  remember 
more;  and  experience  is  but  remembrance.  And  men  of  quick 
imagination,  cceteris  paribus,  are  more  prudent  than  those  whose 
imaginations  are  slow :  for  they  observe  more  in  less  time.  Prud- 
ence is  nothing  but  conjecture  from  experience,  or  taking  of 
signs  from  experience  warily,  that  is,  that  the  experiments  from 
which  he  taketh  such  signs  be  all  remembered;  for  else  the  cases 
are  not  alike  that  seem  so. 

11.  As  in  conjecture  concerning  things  past  and  future,  it  is 
prudence  to  conclude  from  experience,  what  is  like  to  come  to 
pass,  or  to  have  passed  already;  so  it  is  an  error  to  conclude 
from  it,  that  it  is  so  or  so  called;  that  is  to  say,  we  cannot  from 
experience  conclude,  that  any  thing  is  to  be  caWed  just  or  unjust, 
true  or  false,  or  any  proposition  universal  whatsoever,  except 
it  be  from  remembrance  of  the  use  of  names  imposed  arbitrarily 
by  men:  for  example,  to  have  heard  a  sentence  given  in  the  like 
case,  the  like  sentence  a  thousand  times  is  not  enough  to  con- 
clude that  the  sentence  is  just;  though  most  men  have  no  other 
means  to  conclude  by :  but  it  is  necessary,  for  the  drawing  of  such 
conclusion,  to  trace  dnid  find  out,  by  many  experiences,  what  men 


i6o  THOMAS  HOBBES 

do  mean  by  calling  things  just  and  unjust.  Further,  there  is 
another  caveat  to  be  taken  in  concluding  by  experience,  from 
the  tenth  section  of  the  second  chapter;  that  is,  that  we  con- 
clude such  things  to  be  without,  that  are  within  us. 

CHAPTER    VI.     KNOWLEDGE  AND  BELIEF  . 

1.  There  is  a  story  somewhere,  of  one  that  pretends  to  have 
been  miraculously  cured  of  blindness,  wherewith  he  was  born, 
by  St.  Alban  or  other  Saints,  at  the  town  of  St.  Alban's;  and 
that  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  being  there,  to  be  satisfied  of  the 
truth  of  the  miracle,  asked  the  man.  What  colour  is  this?  who, 
by  answering,  it  was  green,  discovered  himself,  and  was  pun- 
ished for  a  counterfeit:  for  though  by  his  sight  newly  received 
he  might  distinguish  between  green,  and  red,  and  all  other  col- 
ours, as  well  as  any  that  should  interrogate  him,  yet  he  could 
not  possibly  know  at  first  sight  which  of  them  was  called  green, 
or  red,  or  by  any  other  name.  By  this  we  may  understand, 
there  be  two  kinds  of  knowledge,  whereof  the  one  is  nothing  else 
but  sense,  or  knowledge  original,  as  I  have  said  in  the  beginning 
of  the  second  chapter,  and  remembrance  of  the  same;  the  other  is 
called  science  or  knowledge  of  the  truth  of  propositions,  and  how 
things  are  called,  and  is  derived  from  understanding.  Both  of 
these  sorts  are  but  experience;  the  former  being  the  experience 
of  the  effects  of  things  that  work  upon  us  from  without;  and  the 
latter  experience  men  have  from  the  proper  use  of  names  in 
language:  and  all  experience  being,  as  I  have  said,  but  remem- 
brance, all  knowledge  is  remembrance:  and  of  the  former,  the 
register  we  keep  in  books,  is  called  history;  but  the  registers  of 
the  latter  are  called  the  sciences. 

2.  There  are  two  things  necessarily  implied  in  this  word 
knowledge;  the  one  is  truth,  the  other  evidence;  for  what  is  not 
truth,  can  never  be  known.  For,  let  a  man  say  he  knoweth  a 
thing  never  so  well,  if  the  same  shall  afterwards  appear  false, 
he  is  driven  to  confession,  that  it  was  not  knowledge,  but  opin- 
ion. Likewise,  if  the  truth  be  not  evident,  though  a  man  holdeth 
it,  yet  is  his  knowledge  thereof  no  more  than  theirs  who  hold 


HUMAN  NATURE  i6i 

the  contrary:  for  if  truth  were  enough  to  make  it  knowledge, 
all  truth  were  known;  which  is  not  so. 

3.  What  truth  is,  hath  been  defined  in  the  precedent  chapter; 
what  evidence  is,  I  now  set  down :  and  it  is  the  concomitance  of  a 
man's  conception  with  the  words  that  signify  such  conception 
in  the  act  of  ratiocination :  for  when  a  man  reasoneth  with  his 
lips  only,  to  which  the  mind  suggesteth  only  the  beginning,  and 
followeth  not  the  words  of  his  mouth  with  the  conceptions  of 
his  mind,  out  of  custom  of  so  speaking;  though  he  begin  his 
ratiocination  with  true  propositions,  and  proceed  with  certain 
syllogisms,  and  thereby  make  always  true  conclusions ;  yet  are 
not  his  conclusions  evident  to  him,  for  want  of  the  concomitance 
of  conception  with  his  words :  for  if  the  words  alone  were  suffi- 
cient, a  parrot  might  be  taught  as  well  to  know  truth,  as  to  speak 
it.  Evidence  is  to  truth,  as  the  sap  to  the  tree,  which,  so  far  as 
it  creepeth  along  with  the  body  and  branches,  keepeth  them 
alive ;  where  it  forsaketh  them,  they  die :  for  this  evidence,  which 
is  meaning  with  our  words,  is  the  life  of  truth. 

4.  Knowledge  thereof,  which  we  call  science,  I  define  to  be 
evidence  of  truth,  from  some  beginning  or  principle  of  sense:  for 
the  truth  of  a  proposition  is  never  evident,  until  we  conceive  the 
meaning  of  the  words  or  terms  whereof  it  consisteth,  which  are 
always  conceptions  of  the  mind:  nor  can  we  remember  those 
conceptions,  without  the  thing  that  produced  the  same  by  our 
senses.  The  first  principle  of  knowledge  is,  that  we  have  such 
and  such  conceptions;  the  second,  that  we  have  thus  and  thus 
named  the  things  whereof  they  are  conceptions;  the  third  is, 
that  we  have  yomei  those  wawes  in  such  manner  as  to  make 
true  propositions;  the  fourth  and  last  is,  that  we  hsive  joined 
those  propositions  in  such  manner  as  they  be  concluding, 
and  the  truth  of  the  conclusion  said  to  be  known.  And  of  these, 
two  kinds  of  knowledge,  whereof  the  former  is  experience  of  fact, 
and  the  latter  evidence  of  truth;  as  the  former,  if  it  be  great,  is 
called  prudence;  so  the  latter,  if  it  be  much,  hath  usually  been 
called,  both  by  ancient  and  modern  writers,  sapience  or  wisdom 
and  of  this  latter,  man  only  is  capable;  of  the  former,  brute  beasts 
also  participate. 


i62  THOMAS  HOBBES 

5.  A  proposition  is  said  to  be  supposed,  when,  being  not  evi- 
dent, it  is  nevertheless  admitted  for  a  time,  to  the  end,  that,  join- 
ing to  it  other  propositions,  we  may  conclude  something;  and  to 
proceed  from  conclusion  to  conclusion,  for  a  trial  whether  the 
same  will  lead  us  into  any  absurd  or  impossible  conclusion; 
which  if  it  do,  then  we  know  such  supposition  to  have  been  false. 

6.  But  if  running  through  many  conclusions,  we  come  to  none 
that  are  absurd,  then  we  think  the  proposition  probable;  likewise 
we  think  probable  whatsoever  proposition  we  admit  for  truth 
by  error  of  reasoning,  or  from  trusting  to  other  men :  and  all  such 
propositions  as  are  admitted  by  trust  or  error,  we  are  not  said  to 
know,  but  to  think  them  to  be  true;  and  the  admittance  of  them 
is  called  opinion. 

7.  And  particularly,  when  the  opinion  is  admitted  out  of 
trust  to  other  men,  they  are  said  to  believe  it;  and  their  admit- 
tance of  it  is  called  belief,  and  sometimes /af/A. 

8.  It  is  either  science  or  opinion  which  we  commonly  mean 
by  the  word  conscience:  for  men  say  that  such  and  such  a  thing 
is  true  in  or  upon  their  conscience ;  which  they  never  do,  when 
they  think  it  doubtful;  and  therefore  they  know,  or  think  they 
know  it  to  be  true.  But  men,  when  they  say  things  upon  their 
conscience,  are  not  therefore  presumed  certainly  to  know  the 
truth  of  what  they  say;  it  remaineth  then,  that  that  word  is 
used  by  them  that  have  an  opinion,  not  only  of  the  truth  of  the 
thing,  but  also  of  their  knowledge  of  it,  to  which  the  truth  of  the 
proposition  is  consequent.  Conscience  I  therefore  define  to  be 
opinion  of  evidence. 

9.  Belief,  which  is  the  admitting  of  propositions  upon  trust, 
in  many  cases  is  no  less  free  from  doubt,  than  pyerfect  and  mani- 
fest knowledge :  for  as  there  is  nothing  whereof  there  is  not  some 
jcause;  so,  when  there  is  doubt,  there  must  be  some  cause  there- 
of conceived.  Now  there  be  many  things  which  we  receive  from 
report  of  others,  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  any  cause  of 
doubt  for  what  can  be  opposed  against  the  consent  of  all  men, 
in  things  they  can  know,  and  have  no  cause  to  report  otherwise 
than  they  are,  such  as  is  a  great  part  of  our  histories,  unless  a 
man  would  say  that  all  the  world  had  conspired  to  deceive  him. 


HUMAN  NATURE  163 

And  thus  much  of  sense,  imagination,  discursion,  ratiocina- 
tion, and  knowledge,  which  are  the  acts  of  our  power  cognitive,  or 
conceptive.  That  power  of  the  mind  which  we  call  motive,  dif- 
fereth  from  the  power  motive  of  the  body;  for  the  power  motive 
of  the  body  is  that  by  which  it  moveth  other  bodies,  and  we  call 
strength :  but  the  power  motive  of  the  mind,  is  that  by  which  the 
mind  giveth  animal  motion  to  that  body  wherein  it  existeth;  the 
acts  hereof  are  our  affections  and  passions,  of  which  I  am  to 
speak  in  general. 

CHAPTER  VII.    THE  PASSIONS 

1.  In  the  eighth  section  of  the  second  chapter  is  shewed,  thai 
conceptions  and  apparitions  are  nothing  really,  but  motion  in 
some  internal  substance  of  the  head;  which  motion  not  stopping 
there,  but  proceeding  to  the  heart,  of  necessity  must  there  either 
help  or  hinder  the  motion  which  is  called  vital;  when  it  helpeth, 
it  is  called  delight,  contentment,  or  pleasure,  which  is  nothing 
really  but  motion  about  the  heart,  as  conception  is  nothing  but 
motion  in  the  head:  and  the  objects  that  cause  it  are  called 
pleasant  or  delightful,  or  by  some  name  equivalent ;  the  Latins 
haxejucundum,  ajuvando,  from  helping;  and  the  same  delight, 
with  reference  to  the  object,  is  called  love :  but  when  such  motion 
weakeneth  or  hindereth  the  vital  motion,  then  it  is  called  pain; 
and  in  relation  to  that  which  causeth  it,  hatred,  which  the 
Latins  express  sometimes  by  odium,  and  sometimes  by  tcedium. 

2.  This  motion,  in  which  consisteth  pleasure  or  pain,  is  also  a 
solicitation  or  provocation  either  to  draw  near  to  the  thing  that 
pleaseth,  or  to  retire  from  the  thing  that  displeaseth;  and  this 
solicitation  is  the  endeavour  or  internal  beginning  of  animal 
motion,  which  when  the  object  delighteth,  is  called  appetite; 
when  it  displeaseth,  it  is  called  aversion,  in  respect  of  the  dis- 
pleasure present;  but  in  respect  of  the  displeasure  expected,  fear. 
So  that,  pleasure,  love,  and  appetite,  which  is  also  called  desire, 
are  divers  names  for  divers  considerations  of  the  same  thing. 

3.  Every  man,  for  his  own  part,  calleth  that  which  pleaseth, 
and  is  delightful  to  himself,  good;  and  that  evil  which  displeas- 


i64  THOMAS  HOBBES 

eth  him :  insomuch  that  while  every  man  differeth  from  another 
in  constitution,  they  differ  also  from  one  anothef  concerning  the 
common  distinction  of  good  and  evil.  Nor  is  there  any  such 
thing  as  absolute  goodness,  considered  without  relation:  for 
even  the  goodness  which  we  apprehend  in  God  Almighty,  is  his 
goodness  to  us.  And  as  we  call  good  and  evil  the  things  that  please 
and  displease;  so  call  we  goodness  and  badness,  the  qualities  or 
powers  whereby  they  do  it:  and  the  signs  of  that  goodness  are 
called  by  the  Latins  in  one  word  pulchritudo,  and  the  signs  of 
evil,  turpitudo;  to  which  we  have  no  words  precisely  answerable. 
As  all  conceptions  we  have  immediately  by  the  sense,  are, 
delight,  or  pain,  or  appetite,  or  fear;  so  are  all  the  imaginations 
after  sense.  But  as  they  are  weaker  imaginations,  so  are  they 
also  weaker  pleasures,  or  weaker  pain. 

4.  As  appetite  is  the  beginning  of  animal  motion  towards 
something  that  pleaseth  us;  so  is  the  attaining  thereof,  the  end 
of  that  motion,  which  we  also  call  the  scope,  and  aim,  and  final 
cause  of  the  same:  and  when  we  attain  that  end,  the  delight  we 
have  thereby  is  called  the  fruition :  so  that  bonum  and  finis  are 
different  names,  but  for  different  considerations  of  the  same 
thing. 

5.  And  of  ends,  some  of  them  are  called  propinqui,  that  is, 
near  at  hand;  others  remoti,  far  off:  but  when  the  ends  that  be 
nearer  attaining,  be  compared  with  those  that  be  further  off, 
they  are  called  not  ends,  but  means,  and  the  way  to  those.  But 
for  an  utmost  end,  in  which  the  ancient  philosophers  have  placed 
felicity,  and  disputed  much  concerning  the  way  thereto,  there 
is  no  such  thing  in  this  world,  nor  way  to  it,  more  than  to 
Utopia:  for  while  we  live,  we  have  desires,  and  desire  presup- 
poseth  a  further  end.  Those  things  which  please  us,  as  the  way 
or  means  to  a  further  end,  we  call  profitable;  and  the  fruition  of 
them,  use;  and  those  things  that  profit  not,  vain. 

6.  Seeing  all  delight  is  appetite,  and  presuppose th  a.  further 
end,  there  can  be  no  contentment  but  in  proceeding :  and  there- 
fore we  are  not  to  marvel,  when  we  see,  that  as  men  attain  to 
more  riches,  honour,  or  other  power;  so  their  appetite  continu- 
ally groweth  more  and  more;  and  when  they  are  come  to  the 


HUMAN  NATURE  165 

utmost  degree  of  some  kind  of  power,  they  pursue  some  other, 
as  long  as  in  any  kind  they  think  themselves  behind  any  other: 
of  those  therefore  that  have  attained  to  the  highest  degree  of 
honour  and  riches,  some  have  affected  mastery  in  some  art;  as 
Nero  in  music  and  poetry,  Commodus  in  the  art  of  a  gladiator; 
and  such  as  affect  not  some  such  thing,  must  find  diversion  and 
recreation  of  their  thoughts  in  the  contention  either  of  play  or 
business:  and  men  justly  complain  of  a  great  grief,  that  they 
know  not  what  to  do.  Felicity,' thereiore,  by  which  we  mean 
continual  delight,  consisteth  not  in  having  prospered,  but  in 
prospering. 

7.  There  are  few  things  in  this  world,  but  either  have  mixture 
©f  good  and  evil,  or  there  is  a  chain  of  them  so  necessarily  linked 
together,  that  the  one  cannot  be  taken  without  the  other:  as  for 
example,  the  pleasures  of  sin,  and  the  bitterness  of  punishment, 
are  inseparable ;  as  is  also  labour  and  honour,  for  the  most  part. 
Now  when  in  the  whole  chain,  the  greater  part  is  good,  the  whole 
is  called  good;  and  when  the  evil  over-weigheth,  the  whole  is  called 
evil. 

8.  There  are  two  sorts  of  pleasure,  whereof  the  one  seemeth 
to  affect  the  corporeal  organ  of  the  sense,  and  that  I  call  sensual; 
the  greatest  part  whereof,  is  that  by  which  we  are  invited  to  give 
continuance  to  our  species;  and  the  next,  by  which  a  man  is 
invited  to  meat,  for  the  preservation  of  his  individual  person: 
the  other  sort  of  delight  is  not  particular  to  any  part  of  the  body, 
and  is  called  the  delight  of  the  mind,  and  is  that  which  we  call 
joy.  Likewise  of  pains,  some  affect  the  body,  and  are  therefore 
called  the  pains  of  the  body;  and  some  not,  and  those  are  called 
grief. 

CHAPTER  XII.    THE  WILL 

I.  It  hath  been  declared  already,  how  eternal  objects  cause 
conceptions,  and  conceptions,  appetite  and  fear,  which  are  the 
first  unperceived  beginnings  of  our  actions;  for  either  the  actions 
immediately  follow  the  first  appetite,  as  when  we  do  anything 
upon  a  sudden;  or  else  to  our  first  appetite  there  succeedeth 
some  conception  of  evil  to  happen  to  us  by  such  actions,  which 


i66  THOMAS  HOBBES 

is  fear,  and  which  holdeth  us  from  proceeding.  And  to  that  fear 
may  succeed  a  new  appetite,  and  to  that  appetite  another  fear 
alternately,  till  the  action  be  either  done,  or  some  accident  come 
between,  to  make  it  impossible;  and  so  this  alternate  appetite 
and  fear  ceaseth.  This  alternate  succession  of  appetite  and  fear 
during  all  the  time  the  action  is  in  our  power  to  do  or  not  to  do, 
is  that  we  call  deliberation;  which  name  hath  been  given  it  for 
that  part  of  the  definition  wherein  it  is  said  that  it  lasteth  so  long 
as  the  action,  whereof  we  deliberate,  is  in  our  power:  for,  so 
long  we  have  Uberty  to  do  or  not  to  do;  and  deliberation  signi- 
fieth  a  taking  away  of  our  own  liberty. 

2.  Deliberation  therefore  requireth  in  the  action  deliberated 
two  conditions;  one,  that  it  be  future;  the  other,  that  there  be 
hope  of  doing  it,  or  possibility  of  not  doing  it ;  for,  appetite  and 
fear  are  expectations  oi  the  iuture;sind  there  is  no  expectation  of 
good,  without  hope;  or  of  evil,  without  possibility :  of  necessaries 
therefore  there  is  no  deliberation.  In  deliberation,  the  last  appe- 
tite, as  also  the  last  fear,  is  called  will,  viz.  the  last  appetite, 
will  to  do,  or  will  to  omit.  It  is  all  one  therefore  to  say  will  and 
last  will;  for,  though  a  man  express  his  present  inclination  and 
appetite  concerning  the  disposing  of  his  goods,  by  words  or 
writings;  yet  shall  it  not  be  counted  his  will,  because  he  hath 
still  hberty  to  dispose  of  them  other  ways :  but  when  death  taketh 
away  that  liberty,  then  it  is  his  will. 

3.  Voluntary  actions  and  omissions  are  such  as  have  begin- 
ning in  the  will;  all  other  are  involuntary,  or  mixed  voluntary; 
involuntary,  such  as  he  doth  by  necessity  of  nature,  as  when  he 
is  pushed,  or  falleth,  and  thereby  doth  good  or  hurt  to  another: 
mixed,  such  as  participate  of  both;  as  when  a  man  is  carried  to 
prison,  going  is  voluntary,  to  the  prison,  is  involuntary:  the 
example  of  him  that  throweth  his  goods  out  of  a  ship  into  the 
sea,  to  save  his  person,  is  of  an  action  altogether  voluntary:  for, 
there  is  nothing  therein  involuntary,  but  the  hardness  of  the 
choice,  which  is  not  his  action,  but  the  action  of  the  winds: 
what  he  himself  doth,  is  no  more  against  his  will,  than  to  flee 
from  danger  is  against  the  will  of  him  that  seeth  no  other  means 
to  preserve  himself. 


HUMAN  NATURE  167 

4.  Voluntary  also  are  the  actions  that  proceed  from  sudden 
anger,  or  other  sudden  appetite  in  such  men  as  can  discern  good 
or  evil :  for,  in  them  the  time  precedent  is  to  be  judged  delibera- 
tion: for  then  also  he  deliberateth  in  what  cases  it  is  good  to 
strike,  deride,  or  do  any  other  action  proceeding  from  anger  or 
other  such  sudden  passion. 

5.  Appetite,  fear,  hope,  and  the  rest  of  the  passions  are  not 
called  voluntary;  for  they  proceed  not  from,  but  are  the  will;  and 
the  will  is  not  voluntary:  for,  a  man  can  no  more  say  he  will 
will,  then  he  will  will  will,  and  so  make  an  infinite  repetition  of 
the  word  [will];  which  is  absurd,  and  insignificant. 

6.  Forasmuch  as  will  to  do  is  appetite,  and  will  to  omit,  fear; 
the  cause  of  appetite  Sind  fear  is  the  cause  also  of  our  will:  but 
the  propounding  of  the  benefits  and  of  harms,  that  is  to  say,  of 
reward  and  punishment,  is  the  cause  of  our  appetite,  and  of  our 
fears,  and  therefore  also  of  our  wills,  so  far  forth  as  we  believe 
that  such  rewards  and  benefits  as  are  propounded,  shall  arrive 
unto  us;  and  consequently,  our  wills  follow  our  opinions,  as  our 
actions  follow  our  wills;  in  which  sense  they  say  truly,  and  pro- 
perly, that  say  the  world  is  governed  by  opinion. 

7.  When  the  wills  of  many  concur  to  one  and  the  same  action 
and  effect,  this  concourse  of  their  wills  is  called  consent;  by  which 
we  must  not  understand  one  will  of  many  men,  for  every  man 
hath  his  several  will,  but  many  wills  to  the  producing  of  one 
effect:  but  when  the  wills  of  two  divers  men  produce  such  ac- 
tions as  are  reciprocally  resistant  one  to  the  other,  this  is  called 
contention;  and,  being  upon  the  persons  one  of  another,  battle: 
whereas  actions  proceeding  from  consent,  are  mutual  aid. 

8.  When  many  wills  are  involved  or  included  in  the  will  of 
one  or  more  consenting,  (which  how  it  may  be,  shall  be  here- 
after declared)  then  is  that  involving  of  many  wills  in  one  or 
more,  called  union. 

9.  In  deliberations  interrupted,  as  they  may  be  by  diversion 
of  other  business,  or  by  sleep,  the  last  appetite  of  such  part  of 
the  deliberation  is  called  intention,  or  purpose. 


RENE  DESCARTES 

(1596-1650) 

THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL 

Translated  from  the  French  *  by 
HENRY   A.    P.    TORREY 

PART    I 

Article  I 

Passion,  as  respects  the  subject,  is  always  action  in  some  other 
respect. 

There  is  nothing  which  better  shows  how  defective  the  sci- 
ences are  which  we  have  received  from  the  ancients  than  what 
they  have  written  upon  the  passions;  for,  although  it  is  a  sub- 
ject the  knowledge  of  which  has  always  been  much  sought  after, 
and  which  does  not  appear  to  be  one  of  the  more  difficult  sci- 
ences, because  everyone,  feeling  the  passions  in  himself,  stands 
in  no  need  whatever  of  borrowing  any  observation  elsewhere  to 
discover  their  nature,  nevertheless,  what  the  ancients  have 
taught  on  this  subject  is  of  such  slight  intent,  and  for  the 
most  part  so  untrustworthy,  that  I  cannot  have  any  hope  of 
reaching  the  truth,  except  by  abandoning  the  paths  which  they 
have  followed.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
write  now  in  the  same  way  as  I  should  if  I  were  treating  a  topic 
which  no  one  before  me  had  ever  touched  upon;  and,  to  begin 
with,  I  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  an  event  is  gener- 
ally spoken  of  by  philosophers  as  a  passion  as  regards  the  sub- 
ject to  which  it  happens,  and  an  action  in  respect  to  that  which 
causes  it;  so  that,  although  the  agent  and  the  patient  may  often 

*  From  Les  passions  de  I'dme,  Amst.  1650.  In  (Euvres,  t.  iv.  Reprinted  from 
The  Philosophy  of  Descartes,  in  Extracts  from  his  Writings,  selected  and  trans- 
lated by  Henry  A.  P.  Torrey.    New  York,  Henry  Holt  and  Company,  1892. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  169 

be  very  different,  action  and  passion  are  always  one  and  the 
same  thing,  which  has  these  two  names  because  of  the  two 
different  subjects  to  which  it  can  be  referred. 

Article  II 

In  order  to  understand  the  passions  of  the  soul,  it  is  necessary 
to  distinguish  its  functions  from  those  of  the  body. 

Next  I  take  into  consideration  that  we  know  of  no  subject 
which  acts  more  immediately  upon  our  soul  than  the  body  to 
which  it  is  joined,  and  that  consequently  we  must  think  that 
what  in  the  one  is  a  passion  is  commonly  in  the  other  an  ac- 
tion; so  that  there  is  no  better  path  to  the  knowledge  of  our 
passions  than  to  examine  into  the  difference  between  the  soul 
and  the  body,  in  order  to  know  to  which  of  them  is  to  be 
attributed  each  of  our  functions.^ 

Article  III 

The  rule  to  he  observed  to  this  end. 

No  great  difficulty  will  be  found  in  this,  if  it  be  borne  in  mind 
that  all  that  which  we  experience  in  ourselves  which  we  see  can 
also  take  place  in  bodies  entirely  inanimate  is  to  be  attributed 
only  to  our  body;  and,  on  the  contrary,  all  that  which  is  in  us 
and  which  we  cannot  conceive  in  any  manner  possible  to  pertain 
to  a  body  is  to  be  attributed  to  our  soul. 

Article  IV 

That  heat  and  the  movement  of  the  limbs  proceed  from  the  body, 
thoughts  from  the  mind. 

Thus,  because  we  cannot  conceive  that  the  body  thinks  in 
any  manner  whatever,  we  have  no  reason  but  to  think  that  all 
forms  of  thought  which  are  in  us  belong  to  the  mind ;  and  be- 
cause we  cannot  doubt  that  there  are  inanimate  bodies  which 
can  move  in  as  many  or  more  different  ways  than  ours,  and 

'  Cf.  Meditation  vi,  in  The  Method ,  Meditations  and  Selections  front  the 
Principles.   Translated  by  John  Veitch.    Edin.,  1850,  etc. 


I70  RENE  DESCARTES 

which  have  as  much  or  more  heat  (as  experience  teaches  us  in 
the  case  of  flame,  which  alone  has  more  heat  and  motion  than 
any  of  our  members),  we  must  believe  that  all  the  heat  and  all 
the  motions  which  are  in  us,  in  so  far  as  they  do  not  depend  at 
all  on  thought,  belong  only  to  the  body. 

Article  V 

That  it  is  an  error  to  think  that  the  soul  imparts  motion  and  heat 
to  the  body. 

By  this  means  we  shall  avoid  a  very  great  error,  into  which 
many  have  fallen,  an  error  which  I  consider  to  be  the  prindpal 
hindrance,  up  to  the  present  time,  to  a  correct  explanation  of 
the  passions  and  other  properties  of  the  soul.  It  consists  in  this, 
that,  seeing  that  all  dead  bodies  are  deprived  of  heat  and,  conse- 
quently, of  motion,  it  is  imagined  that  the  absence  of  the  soul 
causes  these  movements  and  this  heat  to  cease ;  and  thus  it  has 
been  thought,  without  reason,  that  our  natural  heat  and  all  the 
motions  of  our  body  depend  upon  the  soul;  instead  of  which  it 
should  be  thought,  on  the  contrary,  that  soul  departs,  when 
death  occurs,  only  because  this  heat  fails  and  the  organs  which 
serve  to  move  the  body  decay. 

Article  VI 

The  difference  between  a  living  and  a  dead  body. 

In  order,  then,  that  we  may  avoid  this  error,  let  us  consider 
that  death  never  takes  place  through  the  absence  of  a  soul, 
but  solely  because  some  one  of  the  principal  parts  of  the  body 
has  fallen  into  decay;  and  let  us  conclude  that  the  body  of  a 
Hving  man  differs  as  much  from  that  of  a  dead  man  as  does  a 
watch  or  other  automaton  (that  is  to  say,  or  other  machine 
which  moves  of  itself),  when  it  is  wound  up,  and  has  within 
itself  the  material  principle  of  the  movements  for  which  it  is 
constructed,  with  all  that  is  necessary  for  its  action,  from  the 
same  watch  or  other  machine,  when  it  has  been  broken,  and  the 
principle  of  its  movement  ceases  to  act. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  171 

Article  VII 

Brief  explanation  of  the  parts  of  the  body  and  of  some  of  its 
functions} 

In  order  to  render  this  more  intelligible,  I  will  explain  here 
in  a  few  words  how  the  entire  mechanism  of  our  body  is  com- 
posed. There  is  no  one  who  does  not  already  know  that  there 
is  in  us  a  heart,  a  brain,  a  stomach,  muscles,  nerves,  arteries, 
veins,  and  such  things;  it  is  known  also  that  the  food  we  eat 
descends  into  the  stomach  and  the  bowels,  where  their  juices 
flowing  through  the  liver  and  through  all  the  veins,  mix  them- 
selves with  the  blood  they  contain,  and  by  this  means  increase 
its  quantity.  Those  who  have  heard  the  least  talk  in  medicine 
know,  further,  how  the  heart  is  constructed,  and  how  all  the 
blood  of  the  veins  can  easily  flow  through  the  vena  cava  on  its 
right  side,  and  thence  pass  into  the  lung,  by  the  vessel  which  is 
called  the  arterial  vein,  then  return  from  the  lung  on  the  left 
side  of  the'  heart,  by  the  vessel  called  the  venous  artery,  and 
finally  pass  thence  into  the  great  artery,  the  branches  of  which 
are  diffused  through  the  whole  body.  Also,  all  those  whom  the 
authority  of  the  ancients  has  not  entirely  blinded,  and  who  are 
willing  to  open  their  eyes  to  examine  the  opinion  of  Hervasus  ^ 
in  regard  to  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  have  no  doubt  what- 
ever that  all  the  veins  and  arteries  of  the  body  are  merely  chan- 
nels through  which  the  blood  flows  without  cessation  and  very 
rapidly,  starting  from  the  right  cavity  of  the  heart  by  the  arte- 
rial vein,  the  branches  of  which  are  dispersed  throughout  the 
lungs  and  joined  to  that  of  the  venous  artery,  by  which  it  passes 
from  the  lungs  into  the  left  side  of  the  heart;  next,  from  thence 
it  passes  into  the  great  artery,  the  branches  of  which,  scattered 
throughout  all  the  rest  of  the  body,  are  joined  to  the  branches  of 
the  vein,  which  carry  once  more  the  same  blood  into  the  right 
cavity  of  the  heart;  so  that  these  two  cavities  are  Hke  sluices, 
through  each  of  which  all  the  blood  passes  every  time  it  makes 
the  circuit  of  the  body.   Still  further,  it  is  known  that  all  the 

'  Cf.  Discourse  on  Method,  pt.  v.;  Veitch,  p.  46;   {(Euvres,  t.  i,  p.  173). 
'  Harvey.    See  tribute  to  Harvey  {(Euvres,  t.  ix,  p.  361). 


172  RENE  DESCARTES 

movements  of  the  limbs  depend  upon  the  muscles,  and  that 
these  muscles  are  opposed  to  one  another  in  such  a  way  that, 
when  one  of  them  contracts,  it  draws  toward  itself  the  part  of 
the  body  to  which  it  is  attached,  which  at  the  same  time 
stretches  out  the  muscle  which  is  opposed  to  it;  then,  if  it  hap- 
pens, at  another  time,  that  this  last  contracts,  it  causes  the  first 
to  lengthen,  and  draws  toward  itself  the  part  to  which  they  are 
attached.  Finally,  it  is  known  that  all  these  movements  of  the 
muscles,  as  also  all  the  senses,  depend  upon  the  nerves,  wlych 
are  like  minute  threads,  or  small  tubes,  all  of  which  come  from 
the  brain,  and  contain,  like  that,  a  certain  subtle  air  or  breath, 
which  is  called  the  animal  spirits. 

Article  VIII 

The  principle  of  all  these  functions. 

But  it  is  not  commonly  known  in  what  manner  these  animal 
spirits  and  these  nerves  contribute  to  the  movements  of  the 
limbs  and  to  the  senses,  nor  what  is  the  corporeal  principle 
which  makes  them  act;  it  is  for  this  reason,  although  I  have  al- 
ready touched  upon  this  matter  in  other  writings,^  I  shall  not 
omit  to  say  here  briefly,  that,  as  long  as  we  live,  there  is  a  con- 
tinual heat  in  our  heart,  which  is  a  kind  of  fire  kept  up  there  by 
the  blood  of  the  veins,  and  that  this  fire  is  the  corporeal  prin- 
ciple of  the  movements  of  our  limbs.  .  .  . 

Article  XVI 

How  all  the  limbs  can  be  moved  by  the  objects  of  the  senses  and  by 
the  spirits  without  the  aid  of  the  soul. 

Finally,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  machine  of  our  body  is  so 
constructed  that  all  the  changes  which  occur  in  the  motion  of 
the  spirits  may  cause  them  to  open  certain  pores  of  the  brain 
rather  than  others,  and,  reciprocally,  that  when  any  one  of 
these  pores  is  opened  in  the  least  degree  more  or  less  than  is 
usual  by  the  action  of  the  nerves  which  serve  the  senses,  this 
changes  somewhat  the  motion  of  the  spirits,  and  causes  them 
*  On  Man;  also  Discourse  on  Method,  etc.;  trans,  by  Veitch,  p.  52. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  173 

to  be  conducted  into  the  muscles  which  serve  to  move  the  body 
in  the  way  in  which  it  is  commonly  moved  on  occasion  of  such 
action ;  so  that  all  the  movements  which  we  make  without  our 
will  contributing  thereto  (as  frequently  happens  when  we 
breathe,  or  walk,  or  eat,  and,  in  fine,  perform  all  those  actions 
which  are  common  to  us  and  the  brutes)  depend  only  on  the 
conformation  of  our  limbs  and  the  course  which  the  spirits, 
excited  by  the  heat  of  the  heart,  naturally  follow  in  the  brain, 
in  the  nerves,  and  in  the  muscles,  in  the  same  way  that  the 
movement  of  a  watch  is  produced  by  the  force  solely  of  its 
mainspring  and  the  form  of  its  wheels.  .  .   . 

Article  XXX 

That  the  soul  is  united  to  all  parts  of  the  body  conjointly. 

But,  in  order  to  understand  all  these  things  more  perfectly, 
it  is  necessary  to  know  that  the  soul  is  truly  joined  to  the  entire 
body,  and  that  it  cannot  properly  be  said  to  be  in  any  one  of  its 
parts  to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest,  because  the  body  is  one,  and  in 
a  manner  indivisible,  on  account  of  the  arrangement  of  its  or- 
gans, which  are  so  related  to  one  another,  that  when  any  one 
of  them  is  taken  away,  that  makes  the  whole  body  defective : 
and  because  the  soul  is  of  a  nature  which  has  no  relation  to  ex- 
tension, or  to  dimensions,  or  other  properties  of  the  matter  of 
which  the  body  is  composed,  but  solely  to  the  whole  collection 
of  its  organs,  as  appears  from  the  fact  that  we  cannot  at  all 
conceive  of  the  half  or  the  third  of  a  soul,  nor  what  space  it 
occupies,  and  that  it  does  not  become  any  smaller  when  any 
part  of  the  body  is  cut  off,  but  that  it  separates  itself  entirely 
from  it  when  the  combination  of  its  organs  is  broken  up. 

Article  XXXI 

That  there  is  a  small  gland  in  the  brain  in  which  the  soul 
exercises  its  functions  more  particularly  than  in  the  other 
parts. 

It  is,  also,  necessary  to  know  that,  although  the  soul  is  joined 
to  the  entire  body,  there  is,  nevertheless,  a  certain  part  of  the 


174  RENE  DESCARTES 

body  in  which  it  exercises  its  functions  more  particularly  than 
in  all  the  rest;  and  it  is  commonly  thought  that  this  part  is  the 
brain,  or,  perhaps,  the  heart :  the  brain,  because  to  it  the  organs 
of  sense  are  related;  and  the  heart,  because  it  is  as  if  there  the 
passions  are  felt.  But,  after  careful  examination,  it  seems  to  me 
quite  evident  that  the  part  of  the  body  in  which  the  soul  im- 
mediately exercises  its  functions  is  neither  the  heart,  nor  even 
the  brain  as  a  whole,  but  solely  the  most  interior  part  of  it, 
which  is  a  certain  very  small  gland,  situated  in  the  middle  of  its 
substance,  and  so  suspended  above  the  passage  by  which  the 
spirits  of  its  anterior  cavities  communicate  with  those  of  the 
posterior,  that  the  slightest  motions  in  it  may  greatly  affect  the 
course  of  these  spirits,  and,  reciprocally,  that  the  slightest 
changes  which  take  place  in  the  course  of  the  spirits  may 
greatly  affect  the  motions  of  this  gland. 

Article  XXXII 

How  this  gland  is  known  to  he  the  principal  seat  of  the  soul. 

The  reason  which  convinces  me  that  the  soul  cannot  have  in 
the  whole  body  any  other  place  than  this  gland  where  it  exer- 
cises its  functions  immediately,  is  the  consideration  that  the 
other  parts  of  our  brain  are  all  double,  just  as  also  we  have  two 
eyes,  two  hands,  two  ears,  and,  in  fine,  all  the  organs  of  our 
external  senses  are  double;  and  inasmuch  as  we  have  but  one 
single  and  simple  thought  of  the  same  thing  at  the  same  time, 
there  must  necessarily  be  some  place  where  the  two  images 
which  by  means  of  the  two  eyes,  or  the  two  other  impressions 
which  come  from  a  single  object  by  means  of  the  double  organs 
of  the  other  senses,  may  unite  in  one  before  they  reach  the 
mind,  in  order  that  they  may  not  present  to  it  two  objects  in 
place  of  one;  and  it  may  easily  be  conceived  that  these  images 
or  other  impressions  unite  in  this  gland,  through  the  medium 
of  the  spirits  which  fill  the  cavities  of  the  brain;  but  there 
is  no  other  place  whatever  in  the  whole  body,  where  they  can 
thus  be  united,  except  as  they  have  first  been  united  in  this 
gland. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  175 

Letter  to  Mersenne,  July  30,  1640  * 

As  for  the  letter  of  the  physician  De  Sens,  it  contains  no  argu- 
ment to  impugn  what  I  have  written  upon  the  gland  called 
conarium,  except  that  he  says  that  it  can  be  changed  like  all  the 
brain,  which  does  not  at  all  prevent  its  being  the  principal  seat 
of  the  soul ;  for  it  is  certain  that  the  soul  must  be  joined  to  some 
part  of  the  body,  and  there  is  no  point  which  is  not  as  much  or 
more  liable  to  alteration  than  this  gland,  which,  although  it  is 
very  small  and  very  soft,  nevertheless,  on  account  of  its  situa- 
tion, is  so  well  protected,  that  it  can  be  almost  as  little  subject 
to  any  disease  as  the  crystalline  humor  of  the  eye ;  and  it  hap- 
pens more  frequently  indeed  that  persons  become  troubled  in 
mind,  without  any  known  cause,  in  which  case  it  may  be  assigned 
to  some  disorder  of  this  gland,  than  it  happens  that  sight  fails 
by  any  defect  of  this  crystalline  humor,  besides  that  all  the 
other  changes  which  happen  to  the  mind,  as  when  one  falls  asleep 
after  drinking,  etc.,  may  be  ascribed  to  some  changes  occurring 
in  this  gland. 

As  for  what  he  says  about  the  mind's  being  able  to  make  use 
of  double  organs,  I  agree  with  him,  and  that  it  makes  use  also 
of  the  spirits,  all  of  which  cannot  reside  in  this  gland;  but  I  do 
not  at  all  conceive  that  the  mind  is  so  restricted  to  it  that  it 
cannot  extend  its  activity  beyond  it;  but  it  is  one  thing  to  make 
use  of,  and  another  thing  to  be  immediately  joined  and  united 
to  it;  and  our  mind  not  being  double,  but  one  and  indivisible, 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  part  of  the  body  to  which  it  is  most 
immediately  united  must  also  be  one  and  not  divided  into  two 
similar  parts,  and  I  find  nothing  of  that  kind  in  the  whole  brain 
except  this  gland. 

Article  XXXIII 

That  the  seat  of  the  passions  is  not  in  the  heart. 

As  for  the  opinion  of  those  who  think  that  the  soul  experi- 
ences its  passions  in  the  heart,  it  is  of  no  great  account,  because 
it  is  founded  only  on  the  fact  that  the  passions  cause  some  stir 
1  (Euvres,  t.  viii,  p.  301. 


176  RENE  DESCARTES 

to  be  felt  there;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  that  this  change  is  felt,  as  if 
in  the  heart,  only  through  the  medium  of  a  small  nerve,  which 
descends  to  it  from  the  brain,  just  as  pain  is  felt  as  if  in  the  foot 
through  the  medium  of  the  nerves  of  the  foot,  and  the  stars  are 
perceived  as  in  the  heavens  by  the  medium  of  their  light  and  the 
optic  nerves;  so  that  it  is  no  more  necessary  that  our  soul  exer- 
cise its  functions  immediately  in  the  heart  in  order  to  feel  there 
its  passions,  than  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  be  in  the  heavens 
in  order  to  see  the  stars  there. 

Article  XXXIV 

How  the  soul  and  the  body  act  one  upon  the  other. 

Let  us  conceive,  then,  that  the  soul  has  its  principal  seat  in 
this  little  gland  in  the  middle  of  the  brain,  whence  it  radiates 
to  all  the  rest  of  the  body  by  means  of  the  spirits,  the  nerves, 
and  even  of  the  blood,  which,  participating  in  the  impressions 
of  the  mind,  can  carry  them  by  means  of  the  arteries  into  all  the 
members;  and,  bearing  in  mind  what  has  been  said  above  con- 
cerning the  machine  of  our  body,  to  wit,  that  the  minute  fila- 
ments of  our  nerves  are  so  distributed  throughout  all  its  parts 
that,  on  occasion  of  the  different  motions  which  are  excited  there 
by  means  of  sensible  objects,  they  open  in  divers  manners  the 
pores  of  the  brain,  which  causes  the  animal  spirits  contained  in 
these  cavities  to  enter  in  various  ways  into  the  muscles,  by 
means  of  which  they  can  move  the  limbs  in  all  the  different  ways 
of  which  they  are  capable,  and,  also,  that  all  the  other  causes, 
which  in  other  ways  can  set  the  spirits  in  motion,  have  the  effect 
to  turn  them  upon  various  muscles  [keeping  all  this  in  mind], 
let  us  add  here  that  the  little  gland  which  is  the  principal  seat 
of  the  soul  is  so  suspended  between  the  cavities  which  contain 
the  spirits,  that  it  can  be  affected  by  them  in  all  the  different 
ways  that  there  are  sensible  differences  in  objects;  but  that  it 
can  also  be  variously  affected  by  the  soul,  which  is  of  such  a 
nature  that  it  receives  as  many  different  impressions  —  that  is 
to  say,  that  it  has  as  many  different  perceptions  —  as  there 
occur  different  motions  in  this  gland;  as  also,  reciprocally,  the 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  177 

machine  of  the  body  is  so  composed  that  from  the  simple  fact 
that  this  gland  is  variously  affected  by  the  soul,  or  by  whatever 
other  cause,  it  impels  the  spirits  which  surround  it  toward 
the  pores  of  the  brain,  which  discharge  them  by  means  of  the 
nerves  upon  the  muscles,  whereby  it  causes  them  to  move  the 
limbs.  .  .  . 

Article  XL 

The  principal  effect  of  the  passions. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  principal  effect  of  all  the  passions  in 
man  is  that  they  incite  and  dispose  the  mind  to  will  the  things 
to  which  they  prepare  the  body,  so  that  the  sentiment  of  fear 
incites  it  to  will  to  fly;  that  of  courage,  to  will  to  fight;  and  so  of 
the  rest. 

Article  XLI 

The  power  of  the  mind  over  the  body. 

But  the  will  is  so  free  in  its  nature  that  it  can  never  be  con- 
strained; and  of  the  two  kinds  of  thoughts  which  I  have  dis- 
tinguished in  the  mind  —  of  which  one  is  its  actions,  that  is,  its 
volitions;  the  other  its  passions,  taking  this  word  in  its  most 
general  signification,  comprehending  all  sort  of  perceptions  — ^ 
the  first  of  these  are  absolutely  in  its  power,  and  can  be  changed 
only  indirectly  by  the  body,  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  last 
depend  absolutely  on  the  movements  which  give  rise  to  them, 
and  they  can  be  affected  only  indirectly  by  the  mind,  except 
when  it  is  itself  the  cause  of  them.  And  the  whole  action  of  the 
mind  consists  in  this,  that  by  the  simple  fact  of  its  willing  any- 
thing it  causes  the  little  gland,  to  which  it  is  closely  joined,  to 
produce  the  result  appropriate  to  the  voUtion. 

Article  XLII 

How  the  things  we  wish  to  recall  are  found  in  the  memory. 

Thus,  when  the  mind  wills  to  recall  anything,  this  volition 
causes  the  gland,  by  inclining  successively  to  different  sides,  to 
impel  the  spirits  toward  different  parts  of  the  brain  until  they 


178  RENE  DESCARTES 

come  upon  that  where  the  traces  are  left  of  the  thing  it  wills  to 
remember;  for  these  traces  are  due  to  nothing  else  than  the 
circumstance  that  the  pores  of  the  brain,  through  which  the 
spirits  have  already  taken  their  course,  on  presentation  of  that 
object,  have  thereby  acquired  a  greater  facility  than  the  rest 
to  be  opened  again  in  the  same  way  by  the  spirits  which  come 
to  them;  so  that  these  spirits  coming  upon  these  pores,  enter 
therein  more  readily  than  into  the  others,  by  which  means  they 
excite  a  particular  motion  in  the  gland,  which  represents  to  the 
mind  the  same  object,  and  causes  it  to  recognize  that  it  is  that 
which  it  willed  to  remember. 

Article  XLIII 

How  the  mind  can  imagine,  attend,  and  move  the  body. 

Thus,  when  it  is  desired  to  imagine  something  which  has 
never  been  seen,  the  will  has  the  power  to  cause  the  gland  to 
move  in  the  manner  requisite  to  impel  the  spirits  toward  the 
pores  of  the  brain  by  the  opening  of  which  that  thing  can  be 
represented;  so,  when  one  wills  to  keep  his  attention  fixed  for 
some  time  upon  the  same  object,  this  volition  keeps  the  gland 
inclined  during  that  time  in  the  same  direction ;  so,  finally,  when 
one  wills  to  walk  or  to  move  his  body  in  any  way,  this  volition 
causes  the  gland  to  impel  the  spirits  toward  the  muscles  which 
serve  that  purpose. 

Article  XLIV 

That  each  volition  is  naturally  connected  with  some  motion  of 
the  gland,  but  that,  by  intention  or  by  habit,  the  will  may  be  con- 
nected with  others. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  not  always  the  volition  to  excite  within  us 
a  certain  motion,  or  other  effect,  which  is  the  cause  of  its  being 
excited ;  but  this  varies  according  as  nature  or  habit  has  vari- 
ously united  each  motion  of  the  gland  to  each  thought.  Thus, 
for  example,  if  one  desires  to  adjust  his  eyes  to  look  at  a  very 
distant  object,  this  volition  causes  the  pupil  of  the  eye  to  ex- 
pand, and  if  he  desires  to  adjust  them  so  as  to  see  an  object  very 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  179 

near,  this  volition  makes  it  contract ;  but  if  he  simply  thinks  of 
expanding  the  pupil,  he  wills  in  vain  —  the  pupil  will  not  ex- 
pand for  that,  inasmuch  as  nature  had  not  connected  the  mo- 
tion of  the  gland,  which  serves  to  impel  the  spirits  toward  the 
optic  nerve  in  the  manner  requisite  for  expanding  or  contract- 
ing the  pupil,  with  the  volition  to  expand  or  contract,  but  with 
that  of  looking  at  objects  distant  or  near.  And  when,  in  talking, 
we  think  only  of  the  meaning  of  what  we  wish  to  say,  that 
makes  us  move  the  tongue  and  lips  much  more  rapidly  and 
better  than  if  we  thought  to  move  them  in  all  ways  requisite 
for  the  utterance  of  the  same  words,  inasmuch  as  the  habit  we 
have  acquired  in  learning  to  talk  has  made  us  join  the  action  of 
the  mind  —  which,  through  the  medium  of  the  gland,  can 
move  the  tongue  and  the  lips  —  with  the  meaning  of  the  words 
which  follow  these  motions  rather  than  with  the  motions  them- 
selves. .  .  . 


Article  XLVII 

Wherein  consist  the  conflicts  which  are  imagined  to  exist  between 
the  inferior  and  the  superior  parts  of  the  soul. 

It  is  only  in  the  opposition  between  the  motions  that  the  body 
through  the  spirits,  and  the  soul  through  the  will,  tend  to  excite 
at  the  same  time  in  the  gland,  that  all  the  conflicts  consist  which 
are  commonly  imagined  to  arise  between  the  inferior  part  of  the 
soul,  which  is  called  sensitive,  and  the  superior  part,  which  is 
rational,  or  rather  between  the  natural  appetites  and  the  will; 
for  there  is  but  one  soul  within  us,  and  that  soul  has  in  it  no 
diversity  of  parts  whatever;  the  same  which  is  sensitive  is  ra- 
tional, and  all  its  appetites  are  volitions.  The  error  which  is 
committed  in  making  it  play  the  parts  of  different  persons  com- 
monly opposed  to  each  other  arises  only  from  the  want  of  a 
right  distinction  of  its  functions  from  those  of  the  body,  to 
which  is  to  be  attributed  all  that  which  may  be  observed  within 
us  to  be  hostile  to  our  reason,  so  that  there  is  in  this  no  other 
conflict  whatever,  except  that  the  little  gland  which  is  in  the 
middle  of  the  brain  may  be  pushed  on  the  one  side  by  the  soul 


i8o  RENE  DESCARTES 

and  on  the  other  by  the  animal  spirits,  which  are  only  corporeal, 
as  I  have  said  above,  and  it  often  happens  that  these  two  im- 
pulses are  contrary,  and  the  stronger  hinders  the  effect  of  the 
other.  Now  there  may  be  distinguished  two  kinds  of  motion 
excited  by  the  spirits  in  the  gland;  the  one  represents  to  the  soul 
the  objects  which  move  the  senses,  or  the  impressions  which 
meet  in  the  brain,  and  produce  no  effect  upon  the  will ;  the  other 
kind  is  those  which  produce  some  effect  upon  it,  namely,  those 
which  cause  the  passions  or  the  movements  of  the  body  which 
accompany  them;  and  as  for  the  first,  although  they  often 
hinder  the  actions  of  the  soul,  or  perhaps  may  be  hindered  by 
them,  nevertheless,  because  they  are  not  directly  opposed,  no 
conflict  is  observed.  .  .  . 

PART  II 

Article  LI 

The  primary  causes  of  the  passions. 

It  is  understood,  from  what  has  been  said  above,  that  the 
last  and  proximate  cause  of  the  passions  of  the  soul  is  nothing 
but  the  motion  imparted  by  the  spirits  to  the  little  gland  in  the 
middle  of  the  brain.  But  this  is  not  enough  to  enable  us  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  one  another;  it  is  necessary  to  trace  them 
to  their  sources  and  to  inquire  into  their  primary  causes;  now, 
although  they  may  sometimes  be  caused  by  the  action  of  the 
mind,  which  determines  to  think  upon  such  or  such  objects, 
and  also  by  the  mere  bodily  temperament  or  by  the  impressions 
which  happen  to  present  themselves  in  the  brain,  as  occurs  when 
one  feels  sad  or  joyous  without  being  able  to  assign  any  reason 
for  it,  it  should  appear,  nevertheless,  according  to  what  has  been 
said,  that  the  same  passions  may  all  be  excited  by  objects  which 
move  the  senses,  and  that  these  objects  are  their  most  ordinary 
and  principal  causes;  whence  it  follows  that,  to  discover 
them  all,  it  is  sufl&cient  to  consider  all  the  effects  of  these 
objects. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  i8i 

Article  LII 

What  service  they  render^  and  how  their  number  may  he  deter- 
mined. 

I  observe,  further,  that  the  objects  which  move  the  senses  do 
not  excite  in  us  different  passions  by  reason  of  all  the  diversities 
which  are  in  them,  but  solely  on  account  of  the  different  ways 
in  which  they  can  injure  or  profit  us,  or,  in  general,  be  import- 
ant to  us;  and  that  the  service  which  all  the  passions  render 
consists  in  this  alone,  that  they  dispose  the  mind  to  choose  the 
things  which  nature  teaches  us  are  useful,  and  to  persist  in  this 
choice,  while  also  the  same  motion  of  the  spirits  which  com- 
monly causes  them  disposes  the  body  to  the  movements  which 
serve  to  the  performance  of  those  things;  this  is  why,  in  order  to 
determine  the  number  of  the  passions,  it  is  necessary  merely  to 
inquire,  in  due  order,  how  many  different  ways  important  to 
us  there  are  in  which  our  senses  can  be  moved  by  their  objects; 
and  I  shall  here  make  the  enumeration  of  all  the  principal  pas- 
sions in  the  order  in  which  they  may  thus  be  found. 

Article  LIII 

Wonder. 

When  on  first  meeting  an  object  we  are  surprised,  and  judge 
it  to  be  novel,  or  very  different  from  what  we  knew  it  before,  or 
from  what  we  supposed  it  should  be,  this  causes  us  to  wonder  at 
it  and  be  astonished ;  and  since  this  may  happen  before  we  could 
know  whether  this  object  was  beneficial  to  us  or  not,  it  seems 
to  me  that  wonder  is  the  first  of  all  the  passions;  and  it  has  no 
contrary,  because,  if  the  object  which  presents  itself  has  no- 
thing in  it  which  surprises  us,  we  are  not  at  all  moved  by  it, 
and  we  regard  it  without  emotion. 

Article  LXVIII 

Why  this  enumeration  of  the  passions  differs  from  that  com- 
monly received. 

Such  is  the  order  which  seems  to  me  the  best  in  enumerating 
the  passions.  I  know  very  well  that  in  this  my  position  is  differ- 


i82  RENE  DESCARTES 

ent  from  that  of  all  who  have  hitherto  written  upon  them,  but 
it  is  so  not  without  important  reason.  For  they  derive  their 
enumeration  from  their  distinction  in  the  sensitive  part  of  the 
soul  of  two  appetites,  one  of  which  they  call  concupiscible,  the 
other  irascible}  And,  inasmuch  as  I  recognize  in  the  soul  no 
distinction  of  parts,  as  I  have  said  above,  this  seems  to  me  to 
signify  nothing  else  but  that  it  has  two  faculties :  one  of  desiring, 
the  other  of  being  angry;  and  because  it  has  in  the  same  way 
the  faculties  of  admiring,  of  loving,  of  hoping,  of  fearing,  and  of 
entertaining  each  of  the  other  passions,  or  of  performing  the 
actions  to  which  these  passions  incline  it,  I  do  not  see  why  they 
have  chosen  to  refer  all  to  desire  or  to  anger.  Moreover,  their 
enumeration  does  not  include  all  the  principal  passions,  as  I 
believe  this  does.  I  speak  only  of  the  principal  ones,  because 
there  may  still  be  distinguished  many  other  more  special  ones, 
and  their  number  is  indefinite. 

Article  LXIX 

That  there  are  only  six  primary  passions. 

But  the  number  of  those  which  are  simple  and  primary  is  not 
very  great.  For,  on  reviewing  all  those  which  I  have  enumer- 
ated, it  is  readily  observed  that  there  are  only  six  of  this  sort;  to 
wit,  wonder,  love,  hate,  desire,  joy,  and  sadness,  and  that  all 
t\e  rest  are  made  up  of  some  of  these  six,  or  at  least  are  species 
of  them.  This  is  why,  in  order  that  their  number  may  not  em- 
barrass my  readers,  I  shall  here  treat  separately  of  the  six 
primaries;  and  afterward  I  shall  show  how  all  the  rest  derive 
their  origin  from  these. 

Article  LXXIV 

In  what  respect  the  passions  are  of  service  and  in  what  they  are 
harmful. 

Now  it  is  easy  to  see,  from  what  has  been  said  above,  that  the 
usefulness  of  all  the  passions  consists  only  in  this,  that  they 
strengthen  and  make  enduring  in  the  mind  the  thoughts  which 
*  Plato,  Republic,  bk.  iv. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  183 

it  is  well  for  it  to  keep,  and  which  but  for  that  might  easily  be 
effaced  from  it.  As,  also,  all  the  evil  they  can  cause  consists  in 
their  strengthening  and  preserving  those  thoughts  in  the  mind 
more  than  there  is  any  need  of,  or  else  that  they  strengthen  and 
preserve  others  which  it  is  not  well  for  the  mind  to  attend  to. 

Article  LXXIX 

Definitions  of  love  and  haired. 

Love  is  an  emotion  of  the  soul,  caused  by  the  motion  of  the 
spirits,  which  incites  it  to  unite  itself  voluntarily  to  those  ob- 
jects which  appear  to  it  to  be  agreeable.  And  hatred  is  an  emo- 
tion, caused  by  the  spirits,  which  incites  the  mind  to  will  to  be 
separated  from  objects  which  present  themselves  to  it  as  harm- 
ful. I  say  that  these  emotions  are  caused  by  the  spirits,  in  order 
to  distinguish  love  and  hatred,  which  are  passions,  and  depend 
upon  the  body,  as  well  as  the  judgments  which  also  incline  the 
mind  to  unite  itself  voluntarily  with  the  things  which  it  regards 
as  good,  and  to  separate  itself  from  those  which  it  regards  as 
evil,  as  the  emotions  which  these  judgments  excite  in  the  soul. 

Article  LXXX 

What  is  meant  by  voluntary  union  and  separation. 

For  the  rest,  by  the  word  voluntarily,  I  do  not  here  intend 
desire,  which  is  a  passion  by  itself,  and  relates  to  the  future,  but 
the  consent  wherein  one  considers  himself  for  the  moment  as 
united  with  the  beloved  object,  conceiving  as  it  were  of  one 
whole  of  which  he  thinks  himself  but  one  part,  and  the  object 
beloved  the  other.  While  on  the  contrary,  in  the  case  of  hatred, 
one  considers  himself  alone  as  a  whole,  entirely  separated  from 
the  object  for  which  he  has  aversion. 

Article  LXXXVI 
Definition  of  desire. 

The  passion  of  desire  is  an  agitation  of  the  soul,  caused  by  the 
spirits,  which  disposes  it  to  wish  for  the  future  the  objects  which 


1 84  RENE  DESCARTES 

it  represents  to  itself  to  be  agreeable.  Thus  one  desires  not  only 
the  presence  of  absent  good,  but  also  the  preservation  of  the 
present  good,  and,  in  addition,  the  absence  of  evil,  as  well  that 
which  is  already  experienced  as  that  which  it  is  feared  the 
future  may  bring. 

Article    XCI 

Definition  of  joy. 

Joy  is  an  agreeable  emotion  of  the  soul  in  which  consists 
the  enjoyment  that  it  has  in  any  good  which  the  impressions  of 
the  brain  represent  to  it  as  its  own.  I  say  that  it  is  in  this  emo- 
tion that  the  enjoyment  of  good  consists,  for  in  reality  the  soul 
receives  no  other  fruit  of  all  the  goods  it  possesses;  and  so  long 
as  it  has  no  joy  in  them,  it  may  be  said  that  it  has  no  more  frui- 
tion of  them  than  if  it  did  not  possess  them  at  all.  I  add,  also, 
that  it  is  of  good  which  the  impressions  of  the  brain  represent 
to  it  as  its  own,  in  order  not  to  confound  this  joy,  which  is  a 
passion,  with  the  purely  intellectual  joy,  which  arises  in  the 
mind  by  the  simple  activity  of  the  mind,  and  which  may  be 
said  to  be  an  agreeable  emotion  excited  within  itself,  in  which 
consists  the  enjoyment  which  it  has  of  the  good  which  its 
understanding  represents  to  it  as  it  own.  It  is  true  that,  so 
long  as  the  mind  is  joined  to  the  body,  this  intellectual  joy  can 
scarcely  fail  to  be  accompanied  with  that  joy  which  is  passion ; 
for,  as  soon  as  our  understanding  perceives  that  we  possess 
any  good,  although  that  good  may  be  as  different  as  imagin- 
able from  all  that  pertains  to  the  body,  the  imagination  does 
not  fail  on  the  instant  to  make  an  impression  on  the  brain, 
upon  which  follows  the  motion  of  the  spirits  which  excites  the 
passion  of  joy. 

Article  XCII 

Definition  of  sadness. 

Sadness  is  a  disagreeable  languor,  in  which  consists  the  dis- 
tress which  the  mind  experiences  from  the  evil  or  the  defect 
which  the  impressions  of  the  brain  represent  as  pertaining  to  it. 
And  there  is  also  an  intellectual  sadness,  which  is  not  the 
passion,  but  which  seldom  fails  to  be  accompanied  by  it. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  185 

Article  XCVI 

The  motions  of  the  blood  and  the  spirits  which  cause  these  five 
passions. 

The  five  passions  which  I  have  here  begun  to  explain  are  so 
joined  or  opposed  to  one  another,  that  it  is  easier  to  consider 
them  all  together  than  to  treat  of  each  separately  (as  wonder 
has  been  treated) ;  and  the  cause  of  them  is  not  as  is  the  case 
with  wonder,  in  the  brain  alone,  but  also  in  the  heart,  the  spleen, 
the  liver,  and  in  all  other  parts  of  the  body,  in  so  far  as  they 
serve  in  the  production  of  the  blood,  and  thereby  of  the  spirits; 
for  although  all  the  veins  conduct  the  blood  they  contain  toward 
the  heart,  it  happens,  nevertheless,  that  sometimes  the  blood  in 
some  of  them  is  impelled  thither  with  more  force  than  that  in 
others;  it  happens,  also,  that  the  openings  by  which  it  enters 
into  the  heart,  or  else  those  by  which  it  passes  out,  are  more 
enlarged  or  more  contracted  at  one  time  than  at  another.  .  .  . 

Article  CXXXVII 

Of  the  utility  of  these  five  passions  here  explained,  in  so  far  as 
they  relate  to  the  body. 

Having  given  the  definitions  of  love,  of  hatred,  of  desire,  of 
joy,  of  sadness  (and  treated  of  all  the  corporeal  movements 
which  cause  or  accompany  them^)  we  have  only  to  consider 
here  their  utility.  In  regard  to  which  it  is  to  be  noted  that, 
according  to  the  appointment  of  nature,  they  all  relate  to  the 
body,  and  are  bestowed  upon  the  mind  only  in  so  far  as  it  is 
connected  with  it;  so  that  their  natural  use  is  to  incite  the  mind 
to  consent  and  contribute  to  the  actions  which  may  aid  in  the 
preservation  of  the  body,  or  render  it  in  any  way  more  perfect; 
and,  in  this  sense,  sadness  and  joy  are  the  first  two  which  are 
employed.  For  the  mind  is  immediately  warned  of  the  things 
which  harm  the  body  only  through  the  sensation  of  pain,  which 
produces  in  it  first  the  passion  of  sadness;  next,  hatred  of  that 
which  causes  this  pain;  and  thirdly,  the  desire  to  be  delivered 
1  In  the  intervening  Articles. 


i86  RENE  DESCARTES 

from  it;  likewise  the  mind  is  made  aware  immediately  of  things 
useful  to  the  body  only  by  some  sort  of  pleasure,  which  excites 
in  it  joy,  then  gives  birth  to  love  of  that  which  is  believed  to  be 
the  cause  of  it,  and,  finally,  the  desire  to  acquire  that  which  can 
make  the  joy  continue,  or  else  that  the  like  may  be  enjoyed 
again.  Whence  it  is  apparent  that  these  five  passions  are  all 
very  useful  as  regards  the  body,  and  also  that  sadness  is,  in  a 
certain  way,  first  and  more  necessary  than  joy,  and  hatred  than 
love,  because  it  is  more  important  to  repel  things  which  harm 
and  may  destroy  us,  than  to  acquire  those  which  add  a  per- 
fection without  which  we  can  still  subsist.  .  .  . 

Article  CXLIV  .   ' 

Of  desires  where  the  issue  depends  only  on  ourselves. 

But  because  the  passions  can  impel  us  to  action  only  through 
the  medium  of  the  desire  which  we  must  take  pains  to  regulate 
—  and  in  this  consists  the  principal  use  of  morality;  now,  as  I 
have  just  said,  as  it  is  always  good  when  it  follows  a  true  know- 
ledge, so  it  cannot  fail  to  be  bad  when  it  is  based  on  error.  And 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  er^or  most  commonly  committed  in 
regard  to  desires  is  the  failure  to  distinguish  sufficiently  the 
things  which  depend  entirely  upon  ourselves  and  those  which 
do  not ;  for,  as  for  those  which  depend  only  upon  ourselves,  that 
is  to  say,  upon  our  free  will,  it  is  sufficient  to  know  that  they  are 
good  to  make  it  impossible  for  us  to  desire  them  with  too  great 
ardor,  since  to  do  the  good  things  which  depend  upon  ourselves 
is  to  follow  virtue,  and  it  is  certain  that  one  cannot  have  too 
ardent  a  desire  for  virtue,  and  moreover,  it  being  impossible 
for  us  to  fail  of  success  in  what  we  desire  in  this  way,  since  it 
depends  on  ourselves  alone,  we  shall  always  attain  all  the  satis- 
faction that  we  have  expected.  But  the  most  common  fault 
in  this  matter  is  not  that  too  much,  but  too  Httle,  is  desired; 
and  the  sovereign  remedy  against  that  is  to  deliver  the  mind  as 
much  as  possible  from  all  other  less  useful  desires,  then  to  try 
to  understand  very  clearly,  and  to  consider  attentively,  the 
excellence  of  that  which  is  to  be  desired. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  187 

Article  CXLV 

Of  those  which  defend  only  on  other  things. 

As  for  the  things  which  depend  in  no  wise  upon  ourselves, 
however  good  they  may  be,  they  should  never  be  desired  with 
passion;  not  only  because  they  may  not  come  to  pass,  and  in 
that  case  we  should  be  so  much  the  more  cast  down,  as  we  have 
the  more  desired  them,  but  principally  because  by  occupying 
our  thoughts  they  divert  our  interest  from  other  things  the 
acquisition  of  which  depends  upon  ourselves.  And  there  are 
two  general  remedies  for  these  vain  desires;  the  first  is  high- 
mindedness  {la  generosite),  of  which  I  shall  speak  presently;  the 
second  is  frequent  meditation  on  Divine  Providence,  with  the 
reflection  that  it  is  impossible  that  anything  should  happen  in 
any  other  manner  than  has  been  determined  from  all  eternity 
by  this  Providence ;  so  that  it  is  like  a  destiny  or  an  immutable 
necessity,  which  is  to  be  contrasted  with  chance  in  order  to 
destroy  it  as  a  chimera  arising  only  from  an  error  of  our  under- 
standing. For  we  can  desire  only  those  things  which  we  regard 
as  being  in  some  way  possible,  and  we  do  not  regard  as  possible 
things  which  do  not  at  all  depend  upon  ourselves,  except  in  so 
far  as  we  think  that  they  depend  on  chance,  that  is  to  say,  as  we 
judge  that  they  can  happen,  and  that  similar  things  have  hap- 
pened before.  Now  this  opinion  is  based  only  on  the  fact  that 
we  do  not  know  all  the  causes  which  have  contributed  to  each 
effect;  for  when  anything  which  we  have  thought  depended 
upon  chance  has  not  taken  place,  this  shows  that  some  one  of 
the  causes  necessary  to  produce  it  was  wanting,  and,  conse- 
quently, that  it  was  absolutely  impossible,  and  the  like  of  it 
never  took  place;  that  is  to  say,  to  the  production  of  the  like  a 
similar  cause  was  also  wanting,  so  that,  had  we  not  been  igno- 
rant of  that  beforehand,  we  never  should  have  thought  it  pos- 
sible, and  consequently  should  not  have  desired  it. 

Article  CXLVI 

Of  those  things  which  depend  upon  ourselves  and  others. 

It  is  necessary  then  utterly  to  reject  the  common  opinion 


i88  RENE  DESCARTES 

that  there  is  externally  to  ourselves  a  chance  which  causes 
things  to  happen  or  not  to  happen,  at  its  pleasure,  and  to  know, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  everything  is  guided  by  Divine  Provi- 
dence, whose  eternal  decree  is  so  infallible  and  immutable,  that, 
excepting  the  things  which  the  same  decree  has  willed  to  depend 
upon  our  free  choice,  we  must  think  that  in  regard  to  us  nothing 
happens  which  is  not  necessary,  and,  as  it  were,  destined,  so  that 
we  cannot,  without  folly,  wish  it  to  happen  otherwise.  But 
because  most  of  our  desires  extend  to  things,  all  of  which  do  not 
depend  upon  ourselves,  nor  all  of  them  upon  others,  we  should 
distinguish  precisely  that  in  them  which  depends  only  on  our- 
selves in  order  to  confine  our  desires  to  that;  and,  moreover, 
although  we  should  consider  success  therein  to  be  altogether  a 
matter  of  immutable  destiny,  in  order  that  our  desires  may  not 
be  taken  up  with  it,  we  ought  not  to  fail  to  consider  the  reasons 
which  make  it  more  or  less  to  be  hoped  for,  to  the  end  that  they 
may  serve  to  regulate  our  conduct;  as,  for  example,  if  we  had 
business  in  a  certain  place  to  which  we  might  go  by  two  different 
roads,  one  of  which  was  ordinarily  much  safer  than  the  other, 
although  perhaps  the  decree  of  Providence  was  such  that  if 
we  went  by  the  road  considered  safest  we  should  certainly  be 
robbed,  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  we  might  travel  the  other 
with  no  danger  at  all,  we  ought  not  on  that  account  to  be  indif- 
ferent in  choosing  between  them,  nor  rest  on  the  immutable 
destiny  of  that  decree;  but  reason  would  have  it  that  we  should 
choose  the  road  which  was  ordinarily  considered  the  safer,  and 
our  desire  should  be  satisfied  regarding  that  when  we  have  fol- 
lowed it,  whatever  be  the  evil  that  happens  to  us,  because  that 
evil,  being  as  regards  ourselves  inevitable,  we  have  had  no  rea- 
son to  desire  to  be  exempt  from  it,  but  simply  to  do  the  very 
best  that  our  understanding  is  able  to  discover,  as  I  assume  we 
have  done.  And  it  is  certain  that  when  one  thus  makes  a  prac- 
tice of  distinguishing  destiny  from  chance,  he  easily  accustoms 
himself  so  to  regulate  his  desires  that,  in  so  far  as  their  accom- 
plishment depends  only  upon  himself,  they  may  always  afford 
him  entire  satisfaction. 


THE  PASSIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  189 

Article  CXLVII 

Of  the  interior  emotions  of  the  mind. 

I  will  simply  add  a  consideration  which  appears  to  me  of 
much  service  in  averting  from  us  the  disturbance  of  the  pas- 
sions :  it  is  that  our  good  and  our  evil  principally  depend  upon 
the  interior  emotions,  which  are  excited  in  the  mind  only  by  the 
mind  itself,  in  which  respect  they  differ  from  its  passions,  which 
always  depend  upon  some  motion  of  the  spirits;  and  although 
these  emotions  of  the  mind  are  often  united  with  the  passions 
which  resemble  them,  they  may  often  also  agree  with  others, 
and  even  arise  from  those  which  are  contrary  to  them.  .  .  . 
And  when  we  read  of  strange  adventures  in  a  book,  or  see  them 
represented  on  the  stage,  this  excites  in  us  sometimes  sadness, 
sometimes  joy,  or  love,  or  hatred,  and,  in  general,  all  the  pas- 
sions, according  to  the  diversity  of  the  objects  which  present 
themselves  to  our  imagination ;  but  along  with  that  we  have 
the  pleasure  of  feeling  them  excited  within  us,  and  this  pleasure 
is  an  intellectual  joy,  which  can  arise  from  sadness  as  well  as 
from  any  other  passion.^ 

Article  CXLVIII 

That  the  practice  of  virtue  is  a  sovereign  remedy  for  all  the 
passions. 

Now,  inasmuch  as  these  interior  emotions  touch  us  more 
nearly,  and  in  consequence  have  much  greater  power  over  us 
than  the  passions  from  which  they  differ,  which  occur  with  them, 
it  is  certain  that,  provided  the  mind  have  that  within  wherewith 
it  may  be  content,  all  the  troubles  which  come  from  elsewhere 
have  no  power  whatever  to  disturb  it,  but  rather  serve  to  aug- 
ment its  joy,  in  that,  seeing  that  it  cannot  be  troubled  by  them, 
it  is  thereby  made  aware  of  its  own  superiority.  And  to  the  end 
that  the  mind  may  have  that  wherewith  to  be  content,  it  needs 
but  to  follow  virtue  perfectly.  For  whoever  has  lived  in  such  a 
manner  that  his  conscience  cannot  reproach  him  with  ever 

*  Cf.  Aristotle,  Poetics,  6. 


I90  RENE  DESCARTES 

having  failed  to  do  any  of  those  things  which  he  has  Judged  to 
be  the  best  (which  is  what  I  call  here  following  virtue),  he  en- 
joys a  satisfaction  so  potent  in  ministering  to  his  happiness, 
that  the  most  violent  efforts  of  the  passions  never  have  power 
enough  to  disturb  the  tranquillity  of  his  mind. 


BARUGH  DE  SPINOZA 

(1632-1677) 

THE  ETHICS 

Translated  from  the  Latin  *  by 
GEORGE   STUART    FULLERTON 

PART   11.    OF   THE   NATURE   AND   ORIGIN   OF 
THE   MIND 

I  NOW  proceed  to  set  forth  those  things  that  necessarily  had 
to  follow  from  the  essence  of  God,  a  Being  eternal  and  infinite. 

1  shall  not,  indeed,  treat  of  all  of  them,  for  I  have  shown  (I,  16) 
that  there  must  follow  from  this  essence  an  infinity  of  things  in 
infinite  ways,  but  I  shall  treat  only  of  those  which  may  lead  us, 
as  it  were,  by  the  hand,  to  a  knowledge  of  the  human  mind  and 
its  highest  blessedness. 

Definitions 

1.  By  body  I  mean  a  mode  which  expresses,  in  a  definite  and 
determinate  manner,  the  essence  of  God,  in  so  far  as  he  is  con- 
sidered as  an  extended  thing.  {See  I,  25,  cor.) 

2.  I  regard  as  belonging  to  the  essence  of  a  thing  that  which, 
being  given,  the  thing  is  necessarily  given,  and  which  being 
taken  away,  the  thing  is  necessarily  taken  away ;  in  other  words, 
that  without  which  the  thing,  and,  conversely,  which  without 
the  thing,  can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived. 

3.  By  idea  I  mean  a  conception  of  the  mind,  which  the  mind 
forms  because  it  is  a  thinking  thing. 

*  Opera  postkuma,  Amsterdam,  1677;  Opera,  rec.  J.Wan  Vloten  et  J.  P.  Land. 
Hagae  Comitum,  1882-83;  ed.  altera,  ib.,  1895-6,  torn.  i.  Reprinted  here  from 
The  Philosophy  of  Spinoza,  translated  and  edited  by  George  Stuart  Fullerton, 

2  enl.  ed.  New  York,  Henry  Holt  and  Company,  1894. 


192  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

Explanation.  —  I  say  rather  conception  than  perception,  be- 
cause the  word  perception  seems  to  indicate  that  the  mind  is 
acted  upon  by  the  object;  but  conception  seems  to  express  an 
action  of  the  mind. 

4.  By  adequate  idea  I  mean  an  idea  which,  in  so  far  as  it  is 
considered  in  itself  and  without  reference  to  an  object,  possesses 
all  the  properties  or  intrinsic  marks  of  a  true  idea. 

Explanation.  —  I  say  intrinsic,  to  exclude  the  extrinsic  mark, 
namely,  the  agreement  of  the  idea  with  its  object. 

5.  Duration  is  indefinite  continuance  in  existence. 
Explanation.  —  I  say  indefinite,  because  it  can  in  no  wise  be 

limited  by  the  nature  itself  of  the  existing  thing,  nor  yet  by  the 
efl&cient  cause,  which,  to  be  sure,  necessarily  brings  about  the 
existence  of  the  thing,  but  does  not  sublate  it. 

6.  By  reality  and  perfection  I  mean  the  same  thing. 

7.  By  individual  things  I  mean  things  that  are  finite  and  have 
a  determinate  existence.  If,  however,  several  individuals  so 
unite  in  one  action  that  all  are  conjointly  the  cause  of  the  one 
effect,  I  consider  all  these,  in  so  far,  as  one  individual  thing. 

Axioms 

1.  Man's  essence  does  not  involve  necessary  existence;  in 
other  words,  in  the  order  of  nature,  it  equally  well  may  or  may 
not  come  to  pass  that  this  or  that  man  exists. 

2.  Man  thinks. 

3.  Such  modes  of  thinking  as  love,  desire,  or  whatever  else 
comes  under  the  head  of  emotion,  do  not  arise  unless  there  be 
present  in  the  same  individual  the  idea  of  the  thing  loved, 
desired,  etc.  But  the  idea  may  be  present  without  any  other 
mode  of  thinking  being  present. 

4.  We  perceive  by  sense  that  a  certain  body  is  affected  in 
many  ways. 

5.  We  do  not  feel  or  perceive  any  individual  things  except 
bodies  and  modes  of  thinking. 

Prop.  i.  Thought  is  an  attribute  oj  God,  that  is,  God  is  a  think- 
ing thing. 


THE  ETHICS  193 

Proof.  —  Individual  thoughts,  or  this  and  that  thought,  are 
modes  which  express  in  a  definite  and  determinate  manner 
God's  nature  (I,  25,  cor).  God  therefore  possesses  (I,  def.  5) 
the  attribute,  the  conception  of  which  is  involved  in  all  indi- 
vidual thoughts,  and  through  which  they  are  conceived.  Hence, 
thought  is  one  of  the  infinite  attributes  of  God,  and  it  expresses 
God's  eternal  and  infinite  essence  (I,  def.  6) :  that  is,  God  is  a 
thinking  thing.  Q.  E.  D. 

Scholium.  —  This  proposition  may  also  be  proved  from  the 
fact  that  we  can  conceive  an  infinite  thinking  being.  For  the 
more  thoughts  a  thinking  being  is  capable  of  having,  the  more 
reality  or  perfection  do  we  regard  it  as  containing;  a  being, 
then,  that  can  think  an  infinity  of  things  in  an  infinity  of  ways 
is  necessarily,  by  virtue  of  its  thinking,  infinite.  Since,  there- 
fore, we  conceive  an  infinite  being  by  fixing  attention  upon 
thought  alone,  thought  is  necessarily  (I,  defs.  4  and  6)  one  of  the 
infinite  attributes  of  God,  as  I  asserted. 

Prop,  2.  Extension  is  an  attribute  of  God,  that  is,  God  is  an 
extended  thing. 

Proof.  —  This  is  proved  like  the  preceding  proposition. 

Prop.  3.  There  is  necessarily  in  God  an  idea,  both  of  his  own 
essence,  and  of  all  those  things  which  necessarily  follow  from  his 
essence. 

Proof.  —  God  can  (i)  think  an  infinity  of  things  in  an  infinity 
of  ways,  or  (which  is  the  same  thing,  I,  16)  can  form  an  idea  of 
his  own  essence,  and  of  all  those  things  which  necessarily  follow 
from  it.  But  everything  that  is  within  God's  power  necessarily 
is  (I,  35).  Therefore  such  an  idea  necessarily  is,  and  (1, 15)  it  is 
in  God  and  nowhere  else.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  6.  The  modes  of  any  attribute  have  God  as  their  cause, 
only  in  so  far  as  he  is  considered  under  the  attribute  of  which  they 
are  modes,  not  in  so  far  as  he  is  considered  under  any  other  attri- 
bute. 

Proof.  —  Each  attribute  is  conceived  through  itself  independ- 
ently of  anything  else  (I,  10).  The  modes,  then,  of  each  attri- 
bute involve  the  concept  of  their  own  attribute,  but  of  no  other; 
therefore  (I,  axiom  4),  they  have  as  their  cause  God,  only  in  so 


194  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

far  as  he  is  considered  under  the  attribute  of  which  they  are 
modes,  and  not  in  so  far  as  he  is  considered  under  any  other 
attribute.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  —  Hence  it  follows  that  the  formal  being  of  things, 
which  are  not  modes  of  thinking,  does  not  follow  from  the  divine 
nature  because  this  first  knew  things;  but  the  objects  of  ideas 
follow  and  are  inferred  from  their  attributes  in  the  same  manner, 
and  by  the  same  necessity,  as  we  have  shown  ideas  to  follow 
from  the  attribute  of  thought. 

Prop.  7.  —  The  order  and  connection  oj  ideas  is  the  same  as  the 
order  and  connection  of  things. 

Proof.  —  The  proof  is  evident  from  axiom  4,  of  Part  I,  for  the 
idea  of  anything  that  is  caused  depends  upon  a  knowledge  of  the 
cause  whose  effect  it  is. 

Corollary.  —  Hence  it  follows  that  God's  power  of  thinking 
is  equal  to  his  realized  power  of  acting.  That  is,  whatever  fol- 
lows formally  from  God's  infinite  nature  follows  also  objectively 
in  God  in  the  same  order  and  with  the  same  connection  from 
the  idea  of  God. 

Scholium.  —  Before  going  further  we  should  recall  to  mind 
this  truth,  which  has  been  proved  above,  namely,  that  whatever 
can  be  perceived  by  infinite  intellect  as  constituting  the  essence 
of  substance  belongs  exclusively  to  the  one  substance,  and  con- 
sequently that  thinking  substance  and  extended  substance  are 
one  and  the  same  substance,  apprehended  now  under  this,  now 
under  that  attribute.  So,  also,  a  mode  of  extension  and  the  idea 
of  that  mode  are  one  and  the  same  thing,  but  expressed  in  two 
ways;  a  truth  which  certain  of  the  Hebrews  appear  to  have  seen 
as  if  through  a  mist,  in  that  they  assert  that  God;  the  intellect 
of  God,  and  the  things  known  by  it,  are  one  and  the  same.  For 
example,  a  circle  existing  in  nature,  and  the  idea,  which  also  is 
in  God,  of  this  existing  circle,  are  one  and  the  same  thing,  mani- 
fested through  different  attributes;  for  this  reason,  whether  we 
conceive  nature  under  the  attribute  of  extension,  or  under  that 
of  thought,  or  under  any  other  attribute  whatever,  we  shall  find 
there  follows  one  and  the  same  order,  or  one  and  the  same  con- 
catenation of  causes,  that  is,  the  same  thing.  I  have  said  that 


THE  ETHICS  195 

God  is  the  cause  of  an  idea;  for  instance,  the  idea  of  a  circle, 
merely  in  so  far  as  he  is  a  thinking  thing,  and  of  the  circle, 
merely  in  so  far  as  he  is  an  extended  thing,  just  for  the  reason 
that  the  formal  being  of  the  idea  of  a  circle  can  only  be  per- 
ceived through  another  mode  of  thinking,  as  its  proximate 
cause,  that  one  in  its  turn  through  another,  and  so  to  infinity. 
Thus,  whenever  we  consider  things  as  modes  of  thinking,  we 
must  explain  the  whole  order  of  nature,  or  concatenation  of 
causes,  through  the  attribute  of  thought  alone;  and  in  so  far 
as  we  consider  them  as  modes  of  extension,  we  must  likewise 
explain  the  whole  order  of  nature  solely  through  the  attribute  of 
extension.  So  also  in  the  case  of  the  other  attributes.  Hence 
God,  since  he  consists  of  an  infinity  of  attributes,  is  really  the 
cause  of  things  as  they  are  in  themselves.  I  cannot  explain  this 
more  clearly  at  present. 

Prop.  8.  The  ideas  of  individual  things  or  modes  which  do  not 
exist  must  he  comprehended  in  the  infinite  idea  of  God,  in  the  same 
way  as  the  formal  essences  of  individual  things  or  modes  are  con- 
tained in  the  attributes  of  God. 

Proof.  —  This  proposition  is  evident  from  the  one  preceding, 
but  it  may  be  more  clearly  understood  from  the  preceding 
scholium. 

Corollary.  —  Hence  it  follows  that  so  long  as  individual  things 
do  not  exist,  except  in  so  far  as  they  are  comprehended  in  the 
attributes  of  God,  their  objective  being,  that  is,  their  ideas,  do 
not  exist,  except  in  so  far  as  the  infinite  idea  of  God  exists;  and 
when  particular  things  are  said  to  exist,  not  merely  in  so  far  as 
they  are  comprehended  in  the  attributes  of  God,  but  also  in  so 
far  as  they  are  said  to  have  a  being  in  time,  their  ideas,  too, 
involve  an  existence,  through  which  they  are  said  to  have  a 
being  in  time. 

Prop.  10.  Substantive  being  does  not  belong  to  the  essence 
of  man,  that  is,  substance  does  not  constitute  the  essence  of 
man. 

Proof.  —  Substantive  being  involves  necessary  existence 
(I,  7) .  If,  then,  substantive  being  belongs  to  the  essence  of  man, 
granted  substance,  man  would  necessarily  be  granted  {def.  2) : 


196  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

hence  man  would  necessarily  exist,  which  (axiom  i)  is  absurd. 
Therefore,  etc.  Q.  E.  D. 

Scholium.  —  This  proposition  is  proved  also  by  I,  5,  which 
maintains  that  there  are  not  two  substances  of  the  same  nature. 
As,  however,  a  number  of  men  may  exist,  that  which  consti- 
tutes the  essence  of  man  is  not  substantive  being.  This  pro- 
position is  evident,  moreover,  from  the  other  properties  of 
substance,  to  wit,  that  substance  is  in  its  nature  infinite, 
immutable,  indivisible,  etc. ;  as  anyone  may  readily  see. 

Corollary.  —  Hence  it  follows  that  the  essence  of  man  con- 
sists of  certain  modifications  of  God's  attributes.  Substantive 
being  (by  the  preceding  proposition)  does  not  belong  to  the  es- 
sence of  man.  It  is,  therefore  (1, 1 5) ,  something  which  is  in  God, 
and  which  without  God  can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived,  that  is 
(I,  25,  cor.),  a  modification,  or  mode,  which  expresses  God's 
nature  in  a  definite  and  determinate  manner. 

Prop.  ii.  The  first  thing  that  constitutes  the  actual  being  of  the 
human  mind  is  nothing  else  than  the  idea  of  some  individual  thing 
actually  existing. 

Proof. — Man's  essence  (by  the  corollary  to  the  preceding  propo- 
sition) consists  of  certain  modes  of  the  attributes  of  God; 
namely  (axiom  2)  of  modes  of  thinking,  in  all  of  which  (axiom  3) 
an  idea  is  prior  by  nature,  and  when  this  is  present  the  other 
modes  (those,  that  is,  to  which  the  idea  is  prior  by  nature) 
must  be  present  in  the  same  individual  (by  the  same  axiom). 
Thus  an  idea  is  the  first  thing  that  constitutes  the  being  of  the 
human  mind.  But  it  is  not  the  idea  of  a  non-existent  thing,  for 
in  that  case  (8,  cor.)  the  idea  itself  could  not  be  said  to  exist;  it 
is,  then,  the  idea  of  a  thing  actually  existing.  Not,  however,  of 
an  infinite  thing.  For  an  infinite  thing  (I,  21  and  22)  must 
always  necessarily  exist;  but  this  is  (axiom  i)  absurd;  there- 
fore the  first  thing  that  constitutes  the  actual  being  of  the 
human  mind  is  the  idea  of  an  individual  thing  actually  existing. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  —  Hence  it  follows  that  the  human  mind  is  a  part 
of  the  infinite  intellect  of  God.  When,  therefore,  we  say  that 
the  human  mind  perceives  this  or  that,  we  say  merely  that  God, 


THE  ETHICS  .  197 

not  in  so  far  as  he  is  infinite,  but  in  so  far  as  he  is  manifested  by 
the  nature  of  the  human  mind,  that  is,  in  so  far  as  he  consti- 
tutes the  essence  of  the  human  mind,  has  this  or  that  idea;  and 
when  we  say  that  God  has  this  or  that  idea,  not  merely  in  so  far 
as  he  constitutes  the  nature  of  the  human  mind,  but  in  so  far  as 
besides  the  human  mind  he  has  also  the  idea  of  another  thing, 
we  say  the  human  mind  perceives  the  thing  partially  or  inade- 
quately. 

Scholium.  —  Here,  doubtless,  my  readers  will  stick,  and  will 
contrive  to  find  many  objections  which  will  cause  delay.  For 
this  reason  I  beg  them  to  proceed  with  me  slowly,  and  not  to 
pass  judgment  on  these  matters  until  they  have  read  over  the 
whole. 

Prop.  12.  Whatever  takes  place  in  the  object  of  the  idea  that 
constitutes  the  human  mind  must  he  perceived  by  the  human  mind; 
that  is,  an  idea  of  that  thing  is  necessarily  in  the  mind.  In  other 
words,  if  the  object  of  the  idea  that  constitutes  the  human  mind  be  a 
body,  nothing  can  take  place  in  that  body  without  being  perceived 
by  the  mind. 

Proof.  —  Whatever  takes  place  in  the  object  of  any  idea,  the 
knowledge  of  it  is  necessarily  in  God  (9,  cor.),  in  so  far  as  he  is 
considered  as  affected  by  the  idea  of  that  object;  that  is  (i  i) ,  in 
so  far  as  he  constitutes  the  mind  of  anything.  Whatever,  then, 
takes  place  in  the  object  of  the  idea  that  constitutes  the  human 
mind,  the  knowledge  of  it  is  necessarily  in  God,  in  so  far  as  he 
constitutes  the  nature  of  the  human  mind,  that  is  (11,  cor.),  the 
knowledge  of  it  is  necessarily  in  the  mind,  or  the  mind  perceives 
it.  Q.  E.  D. 

Scholium.  —  This  proposition  is  evident  also,  and  more 
clearly  understood,  from  7,  schol.,  which  see. 

Prop.  13 .  The  object  of  the  idea  that  constitutes  the  human  mind 
is  the  body,  that  is,  a  definite  mode  of  extension  actually  existing, 
and  nothing  else. 

Proof.  —  If  the  body  were  not  the  object  of  the  human  mind, 
the  ideas  of  the  modifications  of  the  body  would  not  be  in  God 
(9,  cor.),  in  so  far  as  he  constituted  our  mind,  but  in  so  far  as  he 
constituted  the  mind  of  something  else;  that  is  (11,  cor.),  the 


198  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

ideas  of  the  modifications  of  the  body  would  not  be  in  our 
mind.  But  {axiom  4)  we  have  ideas  of  the  modifications  of  the 
body.  Therefore  the  object  of  the  idea  that  constitutes  the 
human  mind  is  the  body,  and  that  (11)  is  a  body  actually  exist- 
ing. Again,  if,  besides  the  body,  there  was  still  another  object 
of  the  mind,  then,  since  nothing  (I,  36)  exists  from  which  some 
effect  does  not  follow,  there  would  (11)  necessarily  have  to  be 
in  our  mind  the  idea  of  some  effect  of  this  object.  But  (axiom  5) 
there  is  no  such  idea.  Therefore  the  object  of  our  mind  is  the 
existing  body  and  nothing  else.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  —  Hence  it  follows  that  man  consists  of  mind  and 
body,  and  that  the  human  body  exists,  just  as  we  perceive  it. 

Scholium.  —  From  this  we  comprehend,  not  merely  that  the 
human  mind  is  united  to  the  body,  but  also  what  is  meant  by 
the  union  of  mind  and  body.  No  one,  however,  can  compre- 
hend this  adequately  or  distinctly,  unless  he  first  gain  an  ade- 
quate knowledge  of  the  nature  of  our  body.  What  I  have  proved 
so  far  have  been  very  general  truths,  which  do  not  apply  more 
to  men  than  to  all  other  individual  things,  which  are  all,  though 
in  different  degrees,  animated.  For  of  everything  there  is 
necessarily  an  idea  in  God,  of  which  God  is  the  cause,  just  as 
there  is  an  idea  of  the  human  body ;  hence,  whatever  I  have  said 
of  the  idea  of  the  human  body  must  necessarily  be  said  of  the 
idea  of  everything.  Yet  we  cannot  deny  that  ideas  differ  among 
themselves  as  do  their  objects,  and  that  one  is  more  excellent 
than  another,  and  contains  more  reality,  just  as  the  object  of 
the  one  is  more  excellent  than  the  object  of  the  other,  and  con- 
tains more  reality.  Therefore,  in  order  to  determine  in  what  the 
human  mind  differs  from  other  ideas,  and  in  what  it  excels  the 
others,  we  must  gain  a  knowledge,  as  I  have  said,  of  the  nature 
of  its  object,  that  is,  of  the  human  body.  This,  however,  I  can- 
not here  treat  of,  nor  is  it  necessary  for  what  I  wish  to  prove. 
I  will  only  make  the  general  statement  that,  in  proportion  as 
any  body  is  more  capable  than  the  rest  of  acting  or  being  acted 
upon  in  many  ways  at  the  same  time,  its  mind  is  more  capable 
than  the  rest  of  having  many  perceptions  at  the  same  time; 
and  the  more  the  actions  of  a  body  depend  upon  itself  alone, 


THE  ETHICS  199 

and  the  less  other  bodies  contribute  to  its  action,  the  more  capa- 
ble-is  its  mind  of  distinct  comprehension.  We  may  thus  discern 
the  superiority  of  one  mind  over  others,  and  we  may  see  the 
reason  why  we  have  only  a  very  confused  knowledge  of  our 
body.  .  .  . 

Postulates 

1.  The  human  body  is  composed  of  very  many  individuals  of 
different  natures,  each  one  of  which  is  highly  composite. 

2.  Of  the  individuals  which  compose  the  human  body,  some 
are  fluid,  some  soft,  and  some  hard. 

3.  The  individuals  which  compose  the  human  body,  and, 
consequently,  the  human  body  itself,  are  affected  in  very  many 
ways  by  external  bodies. 

4.  The  human  body  needs,  for  its  conservation,  very  many 
other  bodies,  by  which  it  is  continually,  as  it  were,  born 
anew. 

5.  When  a  fluid  part  of  the  human  body  is  determined  by  an 
external  body  to  impinge  often  upon  a  soft  part,  it  changes  the 
plane  of  the  latter,  and  imprints  upon  it  certain  traces,  as  it 
were,  of  the  impelling  external  body. 

6.  The  human  body  can  move  external  bodies  in  very  many 
ways,  and  arrange  them  in  very  many  ways. 

Prop.  14.  The  human  mind  is  capable  of  having  very  many 
perceptions,  and  the  more  capable,  the  greater  the  number  of  ways 
in  whicJi  its  body  can  be  disposed. 

Proof.  —  The  human  body  {postulates  3  and  6)  is  affected  in 
very  many  ways  by  external  bodies,  and  is  adapted  to  affect 
external  bodies  in  very  many  ways.  But  (12)  the  human  mind 
must  perceive  whatever  takes  place  in  the  human  body.  There- 
fore, the  human  mind  is  capable  of  having  very  many  percep- 
tions, and  the  more  capable,  etc.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  15.  The  idea,  which  constitutes  the  essential  being  of  the 
human  mind,  is  not  simple,  but  composed  of  very  many  ideas. 

Proof.  —  The  idea,  which  constitutes  the  essential  being  of 
the  human  mind,  is  the  idea  of  the  body  (13),  and  this  (postu- 
late i)  is  compo     "    "  -.  '-  .,.,..,.      _ 


200  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

there  is  necessarily  in  God  (8,  cor.)  an  idea  of  each  of  the  indi- 
viduals which  compose  the  body.  Therefore  (7)  the  idea  of  the 
human  body  is  composed  of  these  many  ideas  of  the  component 
parts.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  16.  The  idea  of  any  mode,  in  which  the  human  body  is 
affected  by  external  bodies,  must  involve  both  the  nature  of  the 
human  body  and  the  nature  of  the  external  body. 

Proof.  — All  the  modes,  in  which  any  body  is  affected,  are  a 
consequence  both  of  the  nature  of  the  body  affected,  and  the 
nature  of  the  body  affecting  it  {axiom  i,  after  the  cor.  to  lemma  3). 
Hence  their  idea  (I,  axiom  4)  necessarily  involves  the  nature  of 
both  bodies.  Consequently,  the  idea  of  any  mode,  in  which  the 
human  body  is  affected  by  an  external  body,  involves  the  nature 
of  the  human  body  and  of  the  external  body.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary  1.  — Hence  it  follows,  in  the  first  place,  that  the 
human  mind  perceives  the  nature  of  very  many  bodies  along 
with  the  nature  of  its  own  body. 

Corollary  2.  —  And  it  follows,  in  the  second  place,  that  the 
ideas  which  we  have  of  external  bodies  indicate  rather  the  con- 
stitution of  our  own  body  than  the  nature  of  external  bodies; 
as  I  have  explained  with  many  illustrations  in  the  Appendix  to 
Part  I. 

Prop.  17.  //  the  human  body  is  affected  in  a  manner  which 
involves  the  nature  of  any  external  body,  the  human  mind  will  re- 
gard this  external  body  as  actually  existing,  or  as  present  to  it,  until 
the  body  is  affected  with  some  modification  which  excludes  the  exist- 
ence or  presence  of  this  body. 

Proof.  —  This  is  evident.  For  as  long  as  the  human  body  is 
thus  affected,  the  human  mind  (12)  will  contemplate  this  modi- 
fication of  the  body;  in  other  words  {by  the  preceding  proposi- 
tion), will  have  the  idea  of  a  mode  actually  existing,  which  in- 
volves the  nature  of  an  external  body;  that  is,  an  idea  that  does 
not  exclude  the  existence  or  presence  of  the  nature  of  the 
external  body,  but  affirms  it.  Therefore  the  mind  {cor.  i  to  the 
preceding  proposition)  will  regard  an  external  body  as  actually 
existing,  or  as  present,  until  itis  affected,  etc.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  —  The  mind  can  contemplate,  as  if  they  were 


THE  ETHICS  201 

present,  external  bodies  by  which  the  human  body  has  once 
been  affected,  although  they  do  not  exist  and  are  not  present. 

Scholium.  —  Thus  we  see  how  it  can  be  that  we  regard  as 
present  things  that  do  not  exist,  as  often  happens.  It  is  possible 
that  this  is  brought  about  by  other  causes,  but  it  is  here  suffi- 
cient that  I  have  shown  one  by  which  I  can  explain  the  thing  as 
well  as  if  I  had  explained  it  by  its  true  cause.  Nevertheless  I  do 
not  think  I  am  far  wrong,  since  all  the  postulates  I  have  as- 
sumed contain  scarcely  anything  not  in  harmony  with  expe- 
rience, and  experience  we  may  not  doubt,  after  we  have  shown 
that  the  human  body  exists  just  as  we  perceive  it  (13,  cor.). 
Besides  {from  the  preceding  cor.,  and  16,  cor.  2)  we  clearly  com- 
prehend the  difference  between  the  idea,  for  instance,  of  Peter, 
which  constitutes  the  essence  of  the  mind  of  Peter,  and  the  idea 
of  the  same  Peter,  which  is  in  another  man,  say  in  Paul.  The 
former  directly  expresses  the  essence  of  Peter's  body,  nor  does 
it  involve  existence,  except  so  long  as  Peter  exists;  the  latter,  on 
the  other  hand,  indicates  rather  the  condition  of  Paul's  body 
than  the  nature  of  Peter;  and,  therefore,  while  that  condition 
of  Paul's  body  endures,  Paul's  mind  will  regard  Peter  as  present, 
even  if  he  does  not  exist.  Further,  to  keep  to  the  usual  phrase- 
ology, we  will  call  the  modifications  of  the  human  body,  the 
ideas  of  which  represent  external  bodies  as  present  to  us,  images 
of  things,  although  they  do  not  reproduce  the  shapes  of  things. 
When  the  mind  contemplates  bodies  in  this  way,  we  will  speak 
of  it  as  imagining.  And  here,  that  I  may  begin  to  show  what 
error  is,  I  would  have  you  note  that  acts  of  imagination,  in 
themselves  considered,  contain  no  error;  that  is,  that  the  mind 
does  not  err  from  the  mere  fact  that  it  imagines,  but  only  in  so 
far  as  it  is  considered  as  lacking  the  idea,  which  excludes  the 
existence  of  the  things  it  imagines  as  present.  For  if  the  mind, 
when  imagining  things  non-existent  as  present,  knew  that  these 
things  did  not  really  exist,  surely  it  would  ascribe  this  power  of 
imagination  to  a  virtue  in  its  nature,  and  not  to  a  defect,  espe- 
cially if  this  faculty  of  imagining  depended  solely  upon  its 
nature,  that  is  (I,  dej.  7),  if  this  mental  faculty  were  free. 

Prop.  18.  //  the  human  body  has  once  been  affected  simuUa- 


202  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

neously  by  two  or  more  bodies,  when  the  mind  after  that  imagines 
any  one  of  them  it  will  forthwith  call  to  remembrance  also  the 
others. 

Proof.  —  The  cause  of  the  mind's  imagining  any  body  is  {by 
the  preceding  corollary),  that  the  human  body  is  affected  and 
disposed  by  the  traces  of  an  external  body  in  the  same  way  as  it 
was  affected  when  certain  of  its  parts  were  impelled  by  that 
external  body;  but  {by  hypothesis)  the  body  was  then  so  disposed 
that  the  mind  imagined  two  bodies  at  the  same  time;  it  will 
therefore  now,  also,  imagine  two  at  the  same  time;  and  when 
the  mind  imagines  either,  it  will  forthwith  recollect  the  other. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Scholium.  —  From  this  we  clearly  comprehend  what  memory 
is.  It  is  nothing  but  a  certain  concatenation  of  ideas,  involving 
the  nature  of  things  outside  of  the  human  body,  which  arises  in 
the  mind  according  to  the  order  and  concatenation  of  the  modi- 
fications of  the  human  body.  I  say,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  is  a 
concatenation  of  those  ideas  only  that  involve  the  nature  of 
things  outside  of  the  human  body,  not  of  the  ideas  that  express 
the  nature  of  those  things;  for  these  ideas  are  really  (i6)  ideas 
of  the  modifications  of  the  human  body,  which  involve  both  its 
nature  and  that  of  external  bodies.  I  say,  in  the  second  place, 
that  this  concatenation  follows  the  order  and  concatenation  of 
the  modifications  of  the  human  body,  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
concatenation  of  ideas  which  follows  the  order  of  the  under- 
standing, whereby  the  mind  perceives  things  through  their  first 
causes,  and  which  is  the  same  in  all  men.  From  this,  further- 
more, we  clearly  understand  why  the  mind  from  the  thought  of 
one  thing  immediately  passes  to  the  thought  of  another  which 
bears  no  resemblance  to  the  former.  For  example,  from  the 
thought  of  the  word  pomum  (apple)  a  Roman  passes  straight- 
way to  the  thought  of  the  fruit,  which  bears  no  resemblance  to 
that  articulate  sound,  and  has  nothing  in  common  with  it, 
except  that  the  body  of  the  same  man  has  often  been  affected 
by  these  two;  that  is,  the  man  has  often  heard  the  word  pomum 
while  he  saw  this  fruit.  Thus  each  one  passes  from  one  thought 
to  another,  according  as  custom  has  ordered  the  images  of 


THE  ETHICS  203 

things  in  his  body.  A  soldier,  for  instance,  who  sees  in  the  sand 
the  tracks  of  a  horse,  passes  at  once  from  the  thought  of  the 
horse  to  the  thought  of  its  rider,  and  from  that  to  the  thought 
of  war,  etc. ;  while  a  rustic  passes  from  the  thought  of  a  horse 
to  the  thought  of  a  plow,  a  field,  etc.  Thus  each  one,  according 
as  he  has  been  accustomed  to  join  and  connect  the  images 
of  things  in  this  or  that  way,  passes  from  a  given  thought  to 
this  thought  or  to  that. 

Prop,  19.  The  human  mind  does  not  come  to  a  knowledge  of  the 
human  body  itself,  or  know  that  it  exists,  except  through  the  ideas  of 
the  modifications  by  which  the  body  is  affected. 

Proof.  —  The  human  mind  is  the  idea  or  knowledge  of  the 
human  body  (13),  which  (9)  is  in  God,  in  so  far  as  he  is  consid- 
ered as  affected  by  the  idea  of  another  individual  thing.  Or 
rather,  since  (postulate  4)  the  human  body  needs  many  bodies, 
by  which  it  is  continually  born  anew,  as  it  were;  and  since  the 
order  and  connection  of  ideas  is  (7)  the  same  as  the  order  and 
connection  of  causes;  this  idea  is  in  God,  in  so  far  as  he  is  con- 
sidered as  affected  by  the  ideas  of  many  individual  things. 
Therefore  God  has  an  idea  of  the  human  body,  or  knows  the 
human  body,  in  so  far  as  he  is  affected  by  many  other  ideas ;  and 
not  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes  the  nature  of  the  human  mind; 
that  is  (11,  cor.),  the  human  mind  does  not  know  the  human 
body.  But  the  ideas  of  the  modifications  of  the  body  are  in 
God,  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes  the  nature  of  the  human  mind; 
that  is,  the  human  mind  perceives  these  same  modifications 
(12),  and  consequently  (16)  perceives  the  human  body  itself, 
and  that  (17)  as  really  existing.  Therefore,  only  in  so  far  does 
the  human  mind  perceive  the  human  body.   Q.  E,  D. 

Prop.  20.  There  is  in  God  also  an  idea  or  knowledge  of  the 
human  mind,  which  follows  in  God  in  the  same  way,  and  is  referred 
to  God  in  the  same  way,  as  the  idea  or  knowledge  of  the  human  body. 

Proof.  —  Thought  is  an  attribute  of  God  (i);  therefore  (3) 
there  must  necessarily  be  in  God  an  idea  of  it  and  of  all  its  modi- 
fications, and  consequently  (i  i)  of  the  human  mind  also.  In  the 
second  place,  it  does  not  follow  that  this  idea  or  knowledge  of 
the  mind  is  in  God  in  so  far  as  he  is  infinite,  but  in  so  far  as  he  is 


204  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

afifected  by  another  idea  of  an  individual  thing  (9).  But  the 
order  and  connection  of  ideas  is  the  same  as  the  order  and  con- 
nection of  causes  (7).  Therefore  this  idea  or  knowledge  of  the 
mind  follows  in  God,  and  is  referred  to  God,  in  the  same  way  as 
the  idea  or  knowledge  of  the  body.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  21.  This  idea  of  the  mind  is  united  to  the  mind  in  the 
same  way  as  the  mind  itself  is  united  to  the  body. 

Proof.  —  We  have  proved  that  the  mind  is  united  to  the  body, 
from  the  fact  that  the  body  is  the  object  of  the  mind  (12  and  13) ; 
hence,  for  the  same  reason,  the  idea  of  the  mind  must  be  united 
with  its  object,  that  is,  with  the  mind  itself,  in  the  same  way  as 
the  mind  is  united  with  the  body.  Q.  E.  D. 

Scholium.  —  This  proposition  is  much  more  clearly  compre- 
hended from  what  was  said  in  the  scholium  to  prop.  7  of  this 
P^art.  I  there  showed  that  the  idea  of  the  body  and  the  body, 
that  is  (13),  the  mind  and  the  body,  are  one  and  the  same  indi- 
vidual, conceived  now  under  the  attribute  of  thought,  now 
under  that  of  extension.  Hence  the  idea  of  the  mind  and  the 
mind  itself  are  one  and  the  same  thing,  conceived  under  one  and 
the  same  attribute,  namely,  that  of  thought.  The  idea  of  the 
mind,  I  say,  and  the  mind  itself  follow  in  God,  by  the  same 
necessity,  from  the  same  power  of  thinking.  For,  in  truth,  the 
idea  of  the  mind  —  that  is,  the  idea  of  an  idea  —  is  nothing  else 
than  the  essence  of  an  idea,  in  so  far  as  this  is  considered  as  a 
mode  of  thinking,  and  without  relation  to  its  object.  For  when 
any  one  knows  a  thing,  from  that  very  fact  he  knows  that  he 
knows  it,  and  at  the  same  time  knows  that  he  knows  that  he 
knows  it,  and  so  to  infinity.  But  of  this  more  hereafter. 

Prop.  22.  The  human  mind  perceives,  not  merely  the  modifica- 
tions of  the  body,  but  also  the  ideas  of  these  modifications. 

Proof.  —  The  ideas  of  the  ideas  of  modifications  follow  in 
God  in  the  same  way,  and  are  referred  to  God  in  the  same  way, 
as  the  ideas  of  the  modifications.  This  is  proved  as  is  prop.  20. 
But  the  ideas  of  the  modifications  of  the  body  are  in  the  human 
mind  (12),  that  is  (11,  cor.),  they  are  in  God,  in  so  far  as  he  con- 
stitutes the  essence  of  the  human  mind.  Hence,  the  ideas  of 
these  ideas  are  in  God,  in  so  far  as  he  has  a  knowledge,  or  idea, 


THE  ETHICS  205 

of  the  human  mind;  that  is  (21),  they  are  in  the  human  mind 
itself,  which,  consequently,  perceives  not  merely  the  modifi- 
cations of  the  body,  but  also  the  ideas  of  these.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  23,  The  mind  only  knows  itself  in  so  far  as  it  perceives 
the  ideas  of  the  modifications  of  the  body. 

Proof.  —  The  idea  or  knowledge  of  the  mind  (20)  follows  in 
God  in  the  same  way,  and  is  referred  to  God  in  the  same  way, 
as  the  idea  or  knowledge  of  the  body.  But  since  (19)  the  human 
mind  does  not  know  the  body  itself;  that  is  (11,  cor.),  since  the 
knowledge  of  the  human  body  is  not  referred  to  God,  in  so  far 
as  he  constitutes  the  nature  of  the  human  mind;  neither  is  the 
knowledge  of  the  mind  referred  to  God,  in  so  far  as  he  consti- 
tutes the  essence  of  the  human  mind;  and  hence  (11,  cor.),  in  so 
far  the  human  mind  does  not  know  itself.  In  the  second  place, 
the  ideas  of  the  modifications  which  the  human  body  receives 
involve  the  nature  of  the  human  body  itself  (16),  that  is  (13), 
they  agree  with  the  nature  of  the  mind;  hence  the  knowledge  of 
these  ideas  necessarily  involves  the  knowledge  of  the  mind. 
But  {hy  the  preceding  proposition)  the  knowledge  of  these  ideas 
is  in  the  human  mind  itself.  Therefore  only  in  so  far  does  the 
human  mind  know  itself.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  48.  There  is  in  the  mind  no  absolute  or  free  will;  hut  the 
mind  is  determined  to  this  or  that  volition  hy  a  cause,  which  has 
itself  been  determined  hy  another  cause,  this  again  by  another,  and 
so  to  infinity. 

Proof.  —  The  mind  is  a  definite  and  determinate  mode  of 
thinking  (11),  therefore  (I,  17,  cor.  2)  it  cannot  be  a  free  cause 
of  its  own  actions,  that  is,  it  cannot  have  an  absolute  power  to 
will  or  not  to  will.  It  must  be  determined  to  this  or  that  volition 
(I,  28)  by  a  cause,  which  has  itself  been  determined  by  another 
cause,  this  again  by  another,  etc.  Q.  E.  D. 

Scholium.  —  In  the  same  way  it  is  proved  that  there  is  in 
the  mind  no  absolute  power  of  knowing,  desiring,  loving,  etc. 
Whence  it  follows,  these  and  similar  faculties  are  either  abso- 
lutely fictitious,  or  only  metaphysical  entities  —  universals  — 
that  we  are  accustomed  to  form  from  individuals.  Thus,  under- 
standing and  will  are  related  to  this  or  that  idea  and  to  this  or 


2o6  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

that  volition,  as  lapidity  is  related  to  this  or  that  stone,  or  man 
to  Peter  or  Paul.  Why  men  think  themselves  free  I  have  ex- 
plained in  the  Appendix  to  Part  I.  Before  I  go  further,  it  should 
be  noted  that  I  mean  by  will,  not  desire,  but  the  faculty  of 
affirming  and  denying;  I  mean,  I  say,  the  faculty  by  which  the 
mind  affirms  or  denies  what  is  true  or  false,  and  not  the  desire 
through  which  the  mind  seeks  or  avoids  things.  But  having 
proved  these  faculties  to  be  universal  notions,  which  are  not 
distinguished  from  the  individuals  of  which  we  form  them,  it 
remains  to  inquire  whether  the  volitions  themselves  are  any- 
thing but  just  the  ideas  of  things.  It  remains,  I  say,  to  inquire 
whether  there  is  in  the  mind  any  other  affrmation  or  negation 
than  that  involved  in  an  idea,  in  that  it  is  an  idea.  On  this  point 
see  the  following  proposition,  and,  to  avoid  confounding  ideas 
with  pictures,  see,  also,  def .  3  of  this  Part.  For  by  ideas  I  do  not 
mean  such  images  as  are  formed  at  the  back  of  the  eye,  or,  if  you 
please,  in  the  middle  of  the  brain,  but  the  conceptions  of 
thought. 

Prop.  49.  There  is  in  the  mind  no  volition,  that  is,  no  affirma- 
tion or  negation,  except  that  involved  in  an  idea  in  that  it  is  an  idea. 

Proof.  —  There  is  in  the  mind  {by  the  preceding  proposition) 
no  absolute  power  to  will  or  not  to  will,  but  only  particular  voli- 
tions, namely,  this  or  that  affirmation,  and  this  or  that  negation. 
Let  us  conceive,  therefore,  some  particular  volition  —  for  in- 
stance, the  mode  of  thinking  by  which  the  mind  affirms  the 
three  angles  of  a  triangle  to  be  equal  to  two  right  angles.  This 
affirmation  involves  the  conception  or  idea  of  a  triangle,  that  is, 
it  cannot  be  conceived  without  the  idea  of  a  triangle;  for  it  is 
the  same  thing  whether  I  say,  A  must  involve  the  conception  B, 
or  A  cannot  be  conceived  without  B.  In  the  second  place,  this 
affirmation  (axiom  3),  without  the  idea  of  a  triangle,  cannot  be. 
Therefore  this  affirmation  cannot,  without  the  idea  of  a  trian- 
gle, either  be  or  be  conceived.  Moreover,  this  idea  of  a  triangle 
must  involve  this  same  affirmation  of  the  equality  of  its  three 
angles  to  two  right  angles.  Therefore,  conversely,  this  idea  of  a 
triangle  can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived  without  this  affirma- 
tion.  Hence  (def.  2)  this  affirmation  belongs  to  the  essence  of 


THE  ETHICS  207 

the  idea  of  a  triangle,  and  is  nothing  but  that  idea.  What  I  have 
said  of  this  voHtion  is  (since  I  took  it  at  random)  to  be  said  also 
of  every  volition,  namely,  that  it  is  nothing  else  than  an  idea. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  —  Will  and  understanding  are  one  and  the  same 
thing. 

Proof. —  Will  and  understanding  are  nothing  but  particular 
vohtions  and  ideas  (48  and  schol.).  But  a  particular  volition 
and  a  particular  idea  are  {by  the  preceding  proposition)  one  and 
the  same  thing.  Therefore  will  and  understanding  are  one  and 
the  same  thing.  Q.  E.  D. 


GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

(1646-17 1 6) 

PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS 

Translated  from  the  French*  by 
GEORGE    MARTIN   DUNCAN 

XI.  A  New  System  of  Nature,  and  of  the  Interaction 
OF  Substances,  as  well  as  of  the  Union  which  ex- 
ists BETWEEN  the  SoUL  AND  THE  BODY.     1 695 

I.  I  CONCEIVED  this  system  many  years  ago  and  communi- 
cated it  to  some  learned  men,  and  in  particular  to  one  of  the 
greatest  theologians  and  philosophers  of  our  time,  who,  having 
been  informed  of  some  of  my  opinions  by  a  very  distinguished 
person,  had  found  them  highly  paradoxical.  When,  however, 
he  had  received  my  explanations,  he  withdrew  his  condemna- 
tion in  the  most  generous  and  edifying  manner;  and,  having 
approved  a  part  of  my  propositions,  he  ceased  censuring  the 
others  with  which  he  was  not  yet  in  accord.  Since  that  time  I 
have  continued  my  meditations  as  far  as  opportunity  has  per- 
mitted, in  order  to  give  to  the  public  only  thoroughly  examined 
views,  and  I  have  also  tried  to  answer  the  objections  made 
against  my  essays  in  dynamics,  which  are  related  to  the 
former.  Finally,  as  a  number  of  persons  have  desired  to  see  my 
opinions  more  clearly  explained,  I  have  ventured  to  publish 
these  meditations  although  they  are  not  at  all  popular  nor  fit  to 
be  enjoyed  by  every  sort  of  mind.  I  have  been  led  to  do  this 
principally  in  order  that  I  might  profit  by  the  judgments  of 
those  who  are  learned  in  these  matters,  inasmuch  as  it  would  be 
too  inconvenient  to  seek  and  challenge  separately  those  who 

*  From  The  Philosophical  Works  of  Leibnitz,  translated  by  G.  M.  Duncan, 
New  Haven,  1890. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  209 

would  be  disposed  to  give  the  instructions  which  I  shall  always 
be  glad  to  receive,  provided  the  love  of  truth  appears  in  them 
rather  than  passion  for  opinions  already  held. 

2.  Although  I  am  one  of  those  who  have  worked  very  hard  at 
mathematics  I  have  not  since  my  youth  ceased  to  meditate  on 
philosophy,  for  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  way  to 
establish  in  it,  by  clear  demonstrations,  something  stable.  I  had 
penetrated  well  into  the  territory  of  the  scholastics  when  math- 
ematics and  modern  authors  induced  me  while  yet  young  to 
withdraw  from  it.  Their  fine  ways  of  explaining  nature  mechan- 
ically charmed  me;  and,  with  reason,  I  scorned  the  method  of 
those  who  employ  only  forms  or  faculties,  by  which  nothing  is 
learned.  But  afterwards,  when  I  tried  to  search  into  the  prin- 
ciples of  mechanics  to  find  proof  of  the  laws  of  nature  which 
experience  made  known,  I  perceived  that  the  mere  considera- 
tion of  an  extended  mass  did  not  suffice  and  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  employ  in  addition  the  notion  of  force,  which  is  very 
easily  understood  although  it  belongs  to  the  province  of  meta- 
physics. It  seemed  to  me  also  that  the  opinion  of  those  who 
transform  or  degrade  animals  into  simple  machines,  not  with- 
standing its  seeming  possibility,  is  contrary  to  appearances  and 
even  opposed  to  the  order  of  things. 

3.  In  the  beginning,  when  I  had  freed  myself  from  the  yoke 
of  Aristotle,  I  occupied  myself  with  the  consideration  of  the 
void  and  atoms,  for  this  is  what  best  fills  the  imagination;  but 
after  many  meditations  I  perceived  that  it  is  impossible  to  find 
the  principles  of  true  unity  in  mere  matter,  or  in  that  which  is 
only  passive,  because  there  everything  is  but  a  collection  or 
mass  of  parts  ad  infinitum.  Now,  multiplicity  cannot  have  its 
reality  except  from  real  unities,  which  originate  otherwise  and 
are  entirely  (;Jifferent  things  from  the  points  of  which  it  is  cer- 
tain the  continuum  could  not  be  composed.  Therefore,  in  order 
to  find  these  real  unities  I  was  compelled  to  resort  to  a  formal 
atom,  since  a  material  being  could  not  be  at  the  same  time  ma- 
terial and  perfectly  indivisible,  or  in  other  words,  endowed  with 
true  unity.  It  became  necessary,  therefore,  to  recall  and,  as  it 
were,  reinstate  the  substantial  forms,  so  descried  now-a-days, 


2IO    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

but  in  a  way  to  render  them  intelligible,  and  distinguish  the  use 
which  ought  to  be  made  of  them  from  the  abuse  which  had 
befallen  them.  I  found  then  that  their  nature  is  force  and  that 
from  this  something  analogous  to  sensation  and  desire  results, 
and  that  therefore  it  was  necessary  to  conceive  them  similarly 
to  the  idea  which  we  have  of  souls.  But  as  the  soul  ought  not  to 
be  employed  to  explain  the  details  of  the  economy  of  the  animal 
body,  likewise  I  judged  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  employ 
these  forms  to  explain  particular  problems  in  nature  although 
they  are  necessary  in  order  to  establish  true  general  principles. 
Aristotle  calls  them  the  first  entelechies.  I  call  them,  perhaps 
more  intelligibly,  primitive  forces  which  contain  in  themselves 
not  only  the  act  or  complement  of  possibility,  but  also  an 
original  activity. 

4.  I  saw  that  these  forms  and  these  souls  ought  to  be  indivisi- 
ble, just  as  much  as  our  mind, .as  in  truth  I  remembered  was  the 
opinion  of  St.  Thomas  in  regard  to  the  souls  of  brutes.  But  this 
innovation  renewed  the  great  difficulties  in  respect  to  the  origin 
and  duration  of  souls  and  of  forms.  For  every  simple  substance 
which  has  true  unity  cannot  begin  or  end  except  by  miracle;  it 
follows,  therefore,  that  it  cannot  begin  except  by  creation,  nor 
end  except  by  annihilation.  Therefore,  with  the  exception  of 
the  souls  which  God  might  still  be  pleased  to  create  expressly, 
I  was  obliged  to  recognize  that  the  constitutive  forms  of  sub- 
stances must  have  been  created  with  the  world,  and  that  they 
must  exist  always.  Certain  scholastics,  like  Albertus  Magnus 
and  John  Bacon,  had  also  foreseen  a  part  of  the  truth  as  to  their 
origin.  And  the  matter  ought  not  to  appear  at  all  extraordinary 
for  only  the  same  duration  which  the  Gassendists  accord  their 
atoms  is  given  to  £hese  forms. 

5.  I  was  of  the  opinion,  nevertheless,  that  neither  spirits  nor 
the  rational  soul,  which  belong  to  a  superior  order  and  have 
incomparably  more  perfection  than  these  forms  implanted  in 
matter  which  in  my  opinion  are  found  everywhere  —  being  in 
comparison  with  them,  like  little  gods  made  in  the  image  of  God 
and  having  within  them  some  rays  of  the  light  of  divinity,  ought 
to  be  mixed  up  indifferently  or  confounded  with  other  forms  or 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  211 

souls.  This  is  why  God  governs  spirits  as  a  prince  governs  his 
subjects,  and  even  as  a  father  cares  for  his  children;  while  he 
disposes  of  the  other  substances  as  an  engineer  manipulates  his 
machines.  Thus  spirits  have  peculiar  laws  which  place  them 
above  the  changes  which  matter  undergoes,  and  indeed  it  may 
be  said  that  all  other  things  are  made  only  for  them,  the  changes 
even  being  adapted  to  the  felicity  of  the  good  and  the  punish- 
ment of  the  bad. 

6.  However,  to  return  to  ordinary  forms  or  to  material  souls 
[dmes  brutes],  the  duration  which  must  be  attributed  to  them  in 
place  of  that  which  has  been  attributed  to  atoms,  might  raise 
the  question  as  to  whether  they  pass  from  body  to  body,  which 
would  be  metempsychosis  —  very  like  the  belief  of  certain  phi- 
losophers in  the  transmission  of  motion  and  of  the  species.  But 
this  fancy  is  very  far  removed  from  the  nature  of  things.  There 
is  no  such  passage;  and  here  it  is  that  the  transformations  of 
Swammerdam,  Malpighi  and  Leewenhoeck,  who  are  the  best 
observers  of  our  time,  have  come  to  my  aid  and  have  made  me 
admit  more  easily  that  the  animal  and  every  other  organized 
substance  does  not  at  all  begin  when  we  think  it  does,  and  that 
its  apparent  generation  is  only  a  development  and  a  sort  of 
augmentation.  Also  I  have  noticed  that  the  author  of  the 
Search  after  Truth  [i.e.,  Malebranche],  Rigis,  Hartsoeker  and 
other  able  men,  have  not  been  far  removed  from  this  opinion. 

7.  But  the  most  important  question  of  all  still  remained: 
What  do  these  souls  or  these  forms  become  after  the  death  of 
the  animal  or  after  the  destruction  of  the  individual  of  the  or- 
ganized substance?  It  is  this  question  which  is  most  embarrass- 
ing, all  the  more  so  as  it  seems  unreasonable  that  souls  should 
remain  uselessly  in  a  chaos  of  confused  matter.  This  obliged 
me  finally  to  believe  that  there  was  only  one  reasonable  opinion 
to  hold,  namely,  that  not  only  the  soul  but  alsolhe  animal  itself 
and  its  organic  machine  were  preserved,  although  the  destruc- 
tion of  its  gross  parts  had  rendered  it  so  small  as  to  escape  our 
senses  now  just  as  much  as  it  did  before  it  was  born.  Also  there  is 
no  person  who  can  accurately  note  the  true  time  of  death,  which 
can  be  considered  for  a  long  time  solely  as  a  suspension  of  vis- 


212    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

ible  actions,  and  indeed  is  never  anything  else  in  mere  animals; 
witness  the  resuscitation  of  drowned  flies  after  being  buried 
under  pulverized  chalk,  and  other  similar  examples,  which 
make  it  sufficiently  clear  that  there  would  be  many  more  resus- 
citations and  of  far  more  intricacy  if  men  were  in  condition  to 
set  the  machine  going  again.  And  apparently  it  was  of  some- 
thing of  this  sort  that  the  great  Democritus,  atomist  as  he  was, 
spoke,  although  Pliny  makes  sport  of  the  idea.  It  is  then  na- 
tural that  the  animal  having,  as  people  of  great  penetration 
begin  to  recognize,  been  always  living  and  organized,  should  so 
remain  always.  And  since,  therefore,  there  is  no  first  birth  nor 
entirely  new  generation  of  the  animal,  it  follows  that  there  will 
be  no  final  extinction  nor  complete  death  taken  in  its  metaphy- 
sical rigor,  and  that  in  consequence  instead  of  the  transmigra- 
tion of  souls  there  is  only  a  transformation  of  one  and  the  same 
animal,  according  as  its  organs  are  folded  differently  and  more 
or  less  developed. 

8.  Nevertheless,  rational  souls  follow  very  much  higher  laws 
and  are  exempt  from  all  that  could  make  them  lose  the  quality 
of  being  citizens  in  the  society  of  spirits,  God  having  planned 
for  them  so  well,  that  all  the  changes  in  matter  cannot  make 
them  lose  the  moral  qualities  of  their  personality.  And  it  can  be 
said  that  everything  tends  to  the  perfection  not  only  of  the  uni- 
verse in  general  but  also  of  those  creatures  in  particular  who 
are  destined  to  such  a  measure  of  happiness  that  the  universe 
finds  itself  interested  therein,  by  virtue  of  the  divine  goodness 
which  communicates  itself  to  each  one,  according  as  sovereign 
wisdom  permits. 

9.  As  regards  the  ordinary  body  of  animals  and  of  other  cor- 
poreal substances,  the  complete  extinction  of  which  has  up  to 
this  time  been  believed  in,  and  the  changes  of  which  depend 
rather  upon  mechanical  rules  than  upon  moral  laws,  I  remarked 
with  pleasure  that  the  author  of  the  book  On  Diet,  which  is  at- 
tributed to  Hippocrates,  had  foreseen  something  of  the  truth 
when  he  said  in  express  terms  that  animals  are  not  born  and  do 
not  die,  and  that  the  things  which  are  supposed  to  begin  and  to 
perish  only  appear  and  disappear.  This  was  also  the  opinion  of 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  213 

Parmenides  and  of  Melissus,  according  to  Aristotle,  for  these 
ancients  were  more  profound  than  is  thought. 

10.  I  am  the  best  disposed  in  the  world  to  do  justice  to  the 
moderns ;  nevertheless  I  think  they  have  carried  reform  too  far, 
for  instance,  in  confounding  natural  things  with  artificial,  for 
the  reason  that  they  have  not  had  sufficiently  high  ideas  of  the 
majesty  of  nature.  They  conceive  that  the  difference  between 
its  machines  and  ours  is  only  that  of  large  to  small.  This  caused 
a  very  able  man,  author  of  Conversations  on  the  Plurality  of 
Worlds',  to  say  recently  that  in  regarding  nature  close  at  hand 
it  is  found  less  admirable  than  had  been  believed,  being  only 
like  the  workshop  of  an  artisan.  I  believe  that  this  does  not 
give  a  worthy  idea  of  it  and  that  only  our  system  can  finally 
make  men  realize  the  true  and  immense  distance  which  there  is 
between  the  most  trifling  productions  and  mechanisms  of  the 
divine  wisdom  and  the  greatest  masterpieces  of  the  art  of  a 
finite  mind,  this  difference  consisting  not  merely  in  degree  but 
also  in  kind.  It  must  then  be  known  that  the  machines  of  na- 
ture have  a  truly  infinite  number  of  organs  and  that  they  are  so 
well  protected  and  so  proof  against  all  accidents  that  it  is  not 
possible  to  destroy  them.  A  natural  machine  remains  a  ma- 
chine even  to  its  least  parts  and,  what  is  more,  it  remains 
always  the  same  machine  it  has  been,  being  only  transformed 
by  the  different  folds  it  receives,  and  sometimes  expanded, 
sometimes  compressed  and,  as  it  were,  concentrated  when  be- 
lieved to  be  lost. 

11.  Farther,  by  means  of  the  soul  or  of  form  there  arises  a 
true  unity  which  answers  to  what  we  call  the  /  in  us,  that  which 
could  take  place  neither  in  the  machines  of  art  nor  in  the  simple 
mass  of  matter  however  well  organized  it  might  be,  which  can 
only  be  considered  as  an  army,  or  as  a  herd  of  cattle,  or  as  a 
pond  full  of  fish,  or  as  a  watch  composed  of  springs  and  wheels. 
Nevertheless,  if  there  were  not  real  substantial  unities  there 
would  be  nothing  substantial  or  real  in  the  mass.  It  was  this 
which  forced  Cordemoi  to  abandon  Descartes,  and  to  embrace 
Democritus'  doctrine  of  the  Atoms,  in  order  to  find  a  true 
unity.  But  atoms  of  matter  are  contrary  to  reason,  leaving  out 


214    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

of  account  the  proof  that  they  are  made  up  of  parts,  for  the  in- 
vincible attachment  of  one  part  to  another  (if  such  a  thing  could 
be  conceived  or  with  reason  supposed)  would  not  at  all  destroy 
their  diversity.  Only  atoms  of  substance,  i.e.,  unities  which  are 
real  and  absolutely  destitute  of  parts,  are  sources  of  actions  and 
the  absolute  first  principles  of  the  composition  of  things,  and, 
as  it  were,  the  last  elements  of  the  analysis  of  substances.  They 
might  be  called  metaphysical  points;  they  possess  a  certain 
vitality  and  a  kind  of  perception,  and  mathematical  points  are 
their  points  of  view  to  express  the  universe.  But  when  corporeal 
substances  are  compressed  all  their  organs  together  form  only 
physical  point  to  our  sight.  Thus  physical  points  are  only  indi- 
visible in  appearance;  mathematical  points  are  so  in  reality  but 
they  are  merely  modalities ;  only  metaphysical  points  or  those 
of  substance  (constituted  by  forms  or  souls)  are  exact  and  real, 
and  without  them  there  would  be  nothing  real,  for  without  true 
unities  there  could  not  be  multiplicity. 

12.  After  having  established  these  proportions  I  thought 
myself  entering  into  port,  but  when  I  came  to  meditate  on  the 
union  of  the  soul  with  the  body  I  was  as  if  cast  back  into  the 
open  sea.  For  I  found  no  way  of  explaining  how  the  body  can 
cause  anything  to  pass  into  the  soul,  or  vice  versa;  nor  how  one 
substance  can  communicate  with  another  created  substance. 
Descartes  gave  up  the  attempt  on  that  point,  as  far  as  can  be 
learned  from  his  writings,  but  his  disciples  seeing  that  the  com- 
mon view  was  inconceivable,  were  of  the  opinion  that  we  per- 
ceive the  qualities  of  bodies  because  God  causes  thoughts  to 
arise  in  the  soul  on  the  occasion  of  movements  of  matter;  and 
when  the  soul  wished  to  move  the  body  in  its  turn  they  judged 
that  it  was  God  who  moved  it  for  the  soul.  And  as  the  com- 
munication of  motions  again  seemed  to  them  inconceivable, 
they  believed  that  God  gave  motion  to  a  body  on  the  occasion 
of  the  motion  of  another  body.  This  is  what  they  call  the  sys- 
tem of  Occasional  Causes  which  has  been  much  in  vogue  on 
account  of  the  beautiful  remarks  of  the  author  of  the  Search 
after  Truth. 

13.  It  must  be  confessed  that  the  difficulty  has  been  well 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  215 

penetrated  when  the  not-possible  is  stated,  but  it  does  not  ap- 
pear that  it  is  done  away  with  by  explaining  what  actually 
takes  place.  It  is  indeed  true  that  there  is  no  real  influence  of 
one  created  substance  upon  another,  speaking  in  metaphysical 
strictness,  and  that  all  things  with  all  their  reahties  are  continu- 
ally produced  by  the  power  of  God ;  but  in  resolving  problems 
it  is  not  enough  to  employ  a  general  cause  and  to  call  in  what  is 
called  the  Deus  ex  Machina.  For  when  this  is  done  and  there 
is  no  other  explanation  which  can  be  drawn  from  secondary 
causes,  it  is,  properly,  having  recourse  to  miracle.  In  philoso- 
phy it  is  necessary  to  try  to  give  reasons  by  making  known  in 
what  way  things  are  done  by  divine  wisdom,  in  conformity  to 
the  idea  of  the  subject  concerned. 

14.  Being  then  obliged  to  admit  that  it  is  not  possible  for  the 
soul  or  any  true  substance  to  receive  any  influence  from  with- 
out, if  it  be  not  by  the  divine  omnipotence  I  was  led  insensibly 
to  an  opinion  which  surprised  me  but  which  appears  inevitable 
and  which  has  in  truth  great  advantages  and  many  beauties.  It 
is  this:  it  must  then  be  said  that  God  created  the  soul,  or  every 
other  real  unity,  in  the  first  place  in  such  a  way  that  everything 
with  it  comes  into  existence  from  its  own  substance  through 
perfect  spontaneity  as  regards  itself  and  in  perfect  harmony  with 
objects  outside  itself.  And  that  thus  our  internal  feelings  (i.e., 
those  within  the  soul  itself  and  not  in  the  brain  or  finer  parts  of 
the  body),  being  only  phenomena  consequent  upon  external 
objects  or  true  appearances,  and  like  well-ordered  dreams,  it  is 
necessary  that  these  internal  perceptions  within  the  soul  itself 
come  to  it  by  its  own  proper  original  constitution,  i.e.,  by  the 
representative  nature  (capable  of  expressing  beings  outside 
itself  by  relation  to  its  organs),  which  has  been  given  it  at  its 
creation  and  which  constitutes  its  individual  character.  This 
brings  it  about  that  each  of  these  substances  in  its  own  way  and 
according  to  a  certain  point  of  view,  represents  exactly  the 
entire  universe,  and  perceptions  or  impressions  of  external 
things  reach  the  soul  at  the  proper  point  in  virtue  of  its  own 
laws,  as  if  it  were  in  a  world  apart,  and  as  if  there  existed  no- 
thing but  God  and  itself  (to  make  use  of  the  manner  of  speaking 


2i6    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

of  a  certain  person  of  great  elevation  of  mind,  whose  piety  is 
well  known) ;  there  is  also  perfect  harmony  among  all  these  sub- 
stances, producing  the  same  effects  as  if  they  communicated 
with  each  other  by  a  transmission  of  kinds  or  of  quahties,  as 
philosophers  generally  suppose. 

Farther,  the  organized  mass,  within  which  is  the  point  of 
view  of  the  soul,  being  expressed  more  nearly  by  it,  finds  itself 
reciprocally  ready  to  act  of  itself,  following  the  laws  of  cor- 
poreal machines,  at  the  moment  when  the  soul  wills  it,  without 
either  one  troubling  the  laws  of  the  other,  the  nerves  and  the 
blood  having  just  at  that  time  received  the  impulse  which  is 
necessary  in  order  to  make  them  respond  to  the  passions  and 
perceptions  of  the  soul;  it  is  this  mutual  relationship,  regulated 
beforehand  in  every  substance  of  the  universe,  which  produces 
what  we  call  their  inter-communication  and  alone  constitutes  the 
union  between  the  soul  and  body.  And  we  may  understand  from 
this  how  the  soul  has  its  seat  in  the  body  by  an  immediate  pre- 
sence which  could  not  be  greater,  for  it  is  there  as  the  unit  is  in 
the  complex  of  units,  which  is  the  multitude. 

15.  This  hypothesis  is  very  possible.  For  why  could  not  God 
give  to  a  substance  in  the  beginning  a  nature  or  internal  force 
which  could  produce  in  it  to  order  (as  in  a  spiritual  or  formal 
automaton,  but  free  here  since  it  has  reason  to  its  share) ,  all  that 
which  should  happen  to  it;  that  is  to  say  all  the  appearances  or 
expressions  it  should  have,  and  that  without  the  aid  of  any 
creature?  All  the  more  as  the  nature  of  the  substance  neces- 
sarily demands  and  essentially  includes  a  progress  or  change, 
without  which  it  would  not  have  power  to  act.  And  this  nature 
of  the  soul,  being  representative,  in  a  very  exact  (although 
more  or  less  distinct)  manner,  of  the  universe,  the  series  of  re- 
presentations which  the  soul  will  produce  for  itself  will  naturally 
correspond  to  the  series  of  changes  in  the  universe  itself;  as,  in 
turn,  the  body  has  also  been  accommodated  to  the  soul,  for  the 
encounters  where  it  is  conceived  as  acting  from  without.  This  is 
the  more  reasonable  as  bodies  are  only  made  for  those  spirits 
which  are  capable  of  entering  into  communion  with  God  and  of 
celebrating  His  glory.  Thus  from  the  moment  the  possibility  of 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  217 

this  hypothesis  of  harmonies  is  perceived,  we  perceive  also  that  it 
is  the  most  reasonable  and  that  it  gives  a  marvellous  idea  of  the 
harmony  of  the  universe  and  of  the  perfection  of  the  works  of 
God. 

16.  This  great  advantage  is  also  found  in  it,  that  instead  of 
saying  that  we  are  free  only  in  appearance  and  in  a  way  prac- 
tically sufficient,  as  many  persons  of  ability  have  believed,  it 
must  rather  be  said  that  we  are  only  enchained  in  appearance, 
and  that  according  to  the  strictness  of  metaphysical  expressions 
we  are  in  a  state  of  perfect  independence  as  respects  the  influ- 
ence of  all  other  creatures.  This  again  places  in  a  marvellous 
light  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  the  always  uniform  pre- 
servation of  our  individuality,  regulated  perfectly  by  its  own 
nature  beyond  the  risk  of  all  accidents  from  without,  whatever 
appearance  there  may  be  to  the  contrary.  Never  has  a  system 
so  clearly  proved  our  high  standing.  Every  spirit,  being  like  a 
separate  world  sufficient  to  itself,  independent  of  every  other 
creature,  enclosing  the  infinite,  expressing  the  universe,  is  as 
durable,  as  stable  and  as  absolute  as  the  universe  of  creatures 
itself.  Therefore  we  ought  always  to  appear  in  it  in  the  way 
best  fitted  to  contribute  to  the  perfection  of  the  society  of  all 
spirits,  which  makes  their  moral  union  in  the  city  of  God. 
Here  is  found  also  a  new  proof  of  the  existence  of  God,  which  is 
one  of  surprising  clearness.  For  this  perfect  harmony  of  so 
many  substances  which  have  no  communication  with  each 
other,  can  only  come  from  a  common  cause. 

17.  Besides  all  these  advantages  which  render  this  system 
commendable,  it  can  also  be  said  that  this  is  more  than  an 
h3rpothesis,  since  it  hardly  seems  possible  to  explain  the  facts  in 
any  other  intelligible  manner,  and  since  several  great  difficulties 
which  have  exercised  the  mind  up  to  this  time,  seem  to  disap- 
pear of  themselves  as  soon  as  this  system  is  well  understood. 
The  customary  ways  of  speaking  can  still  be  retained.  For  we 
can  say  that  the  substance,  the  disposition  of  which  explains 
the  changes  in  others  in  an  intelligible  manner  (in  this  respect, 
that  it  may  be  supposed  that  the  others  have  been  in  this  point 
adapted  to  it  since  the  beginning,  according  to  the  order  of  the 


2i8    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

decrees  of  God),  is  the  one  which  must  be  conceived  of  as  acting 
upon  the  others.  Also  the  action  of  one  substance  upon  another 
is  not  the  emission  or  transfer  of  an  entity  as  is  commonly  be- 
lieved, and  cannot  be  understood  reasonably  except  in  the  way 
which  I  have  just  mentioned.  It  is  true  that  we  can  easily  con- 
ceive in  matter  both  emissions  and  receptions  of  parts,  by 
means  of  which  we  are  right  in  explaining  mechanically  all  the 
phenomena  of  physics;  but  as  the  material  mass  is  not  a  sub- 
stance it  is  apparent  that  action  as  regards  substance  itself  can 
only  be  what  I  have  just  said. 

i8.  These  considerations,  however  metaphysical  they  may 
appear,  have  yet  a  marvellous  use  in  physics  in  estabUshing  the 
laws  of  motion,  as  our  Dynamics  can  make  clear.  For  it  can  be 
said  that  in  the  collision  of  bodies,  each  one  suffers  only  by  rea- 
son of  its  own  elasticity,  because  of  the  motion  which  is  already 
in  it.  And  as  to  absolute  motion,  it  can  in  no  way  be  deter- 
mined mathematically,  since  everything  terminates  in  rela- 
tions; therefore  there  is  always  a  perfect  equality  of  hypotheses, 
as  in  astronomy,  so  that  whatever  number  of  bodies  may  be 
taken  it  is  arbitrary  to  assign  repose  or  a  certain  degree  of  veloc- 
ity to  any  one  that  may  be  chosen,  without  being  refuted  by  the 
phenomena  of  straight,  circular  and  composite  motion.  Never- 
theless it  is  reasonable  to  attribute  to  bodies  real  movements, 
according  to  the  supposition  which  explains  phenomena  in  the 
most  intelligible  manner,  since  this  description  is  in  conformity 
to  the  idea  of  action  which  I  have  just  established. 

XIV.   Second  Explanation  of  the  System  of  the  Com- 
munication BETWEEN  Substances.    1696 

By  your  [S.  Foucher]  reflections,  sir,  I  see  clearly  that  the 
thought  which  one  of  my  friends  has  published  in  the  Journal 
de  Paris  has  need  of  explanation. 

You  do  not  understand,  you  say,  how  I  could  prove  that 
which  I  advanced  concerning  the  communication  or  harmony 
of  two  substances  so  different  as  the  soul  and  the  body.  It  is 
true  that  I  believe  that  I  have  found  the  means  of  doing  so,  and 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  219 

this  is  how  I  propose  to  satisfy  you.  Imagine  two  clocks  or 
watches  which  agree  perfectly.  Now,  this  may  take  place  in 
three  ways.  The  first  consists  in  a  mutual  influence;  the  second 
is  to  have  a  skillful  workman  attached  to  them  who  regulates 
them  and  keeps  them  always  in  accord ;  the  third  is  to  construct 
these  two  clocks  with  so  much  art  and  accuracy  as  to  assure  their 
future  harmony.  Put  now  the  soul  and  the  body  in  place  of 
these  two  clocks;  their  accordance  may  be  brought  about  by 
one  of  these  three  ways.  The  way  of  influence  is  that  of  common 
philosophy,  but  as  we  cannot  conceive  of  material  particles 
which  may  pass  from  one  of  these  substances  into  the  other, 
this  view  must  be  abandoned.  The  way  of  the  continual  assist- 
ance of  the  creator  is  that  of  the  system  of  occasional  causes; 
but  I  hold  that  this  is  to  make  a  Deus  ex  Machina  intervene  in  a 
natural  and  ordinary  matter,  in  which,  according  to  reason,  he 
ought  not  to  cooperate  except  in  the  way  in  which  he  does  in  all 
other  natural  things.  Thus  there  remains  only  my  hypothesis; 
that  is,  the  way  of  harmony.  From  the  beginning  God  has 
made  each  of  these  two  substances  of  such  a  nature  that 
merely  by  following  its  own  peculiar  laws,  received  with  its 
being,  it  nevertheless  accords  with  the  other,  just  as  if  there 
were  a  mutual  influence  or  as  if  God  always  put  his  hand  thereto 
in  addition  to  his  general  cooperation.  After  this  I  have  no 
need  of  proving  anything,  unless  you  wish  to  require  me  to 
prove  that  God  is  sufficiently  skillful  to  make  use  of  this  pre- 
venient  contrivance,  examples  of  which  we  see  even  among 
men.  Now,  taking  for  granted  that  he  can  do  it,  you  easily  see 
that  this  is  the  way  most  beautiful  and  most  worthy  of  him. 
You  suspected  that  my  explanation  would  be  opposed  to  the 
very  different  idea  which  we  have  of  the  mind  and  of  the  body; 
but  you  will  presently  clearly  see  that  no  one  has  better  estab- 
lished their  independence.  For  while  it  has  been  necessary  to 
explain  their  communication  by  a  kind  of  miracle,  occasion  has 
always  been  given  to  many  people  to  fear  that  the  distinction 
between  the  body  and  the  soul  was  not  as  real  as  was  believed, 
since  in  order  to  maintain  it  it  was  necessary  to  go  so  far.  I  shall 
not  be  at  all  sorry  to  sound  enlightened  persons  concerning  the 
thoughts  which  I  have  just  explained  to  you. 


220    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

XXXII.  The  Principles  of  Nature  and  of  Grace.   17 14 

1.  Substance  is  being,  capable  of  action.  It  is  simple  or  com- 
pound. Simple  substance  is  that  which  has  no  parts.  Compound 
substance  is  a  collection  of  simple  substances  or  monads.  Monas 
is  a  Greek  word  which  signifies  unity,  or  that  which  is  one. 

Compounds,  or  bodies,  are  multitudes;  and  simple  sub- 
stances, lives,  souls,  spirits  are  unities.  And  there  must  be 
simple  substances  everjrwhere,  because  without  simple  sub- 
stances there  would  be  no  compounds;  and  consequently  all 
nature  is  full  of  life. 

2.  Monads,  having  no  parts,  cannot  be  formed  or  decom- 
posed. They  cannot  begin  or  end  naturally;  and  consequently 
last  as  long  as  the  universe,  which  will  indeed  be  changed  but 
will  not  be  destroyed.  They  cannot  have  shapes;  otherwise 
they  would  have  parts.  And  consequently  a  monad,  in  itself  and 
at  a  given  moment,  could  not  be  distinguished  from  another  ex- 
cept by  its  internal  qualities  and  actions,  which  can  be  nothing 
else  than  its  perceptions  (that  is,  representations  of  the  com- 
pound, or  of  what  is  external,  in  the  simple),  and  its  appetitions 
(that  is,  its  tendencies  from  one  p>erception  to  another),  which 
are  the  principles  of  change.  For  the  simplicity  of  substance 
does  not  prevent  multiplicity  of  modifications,  which  must  be 
found  together  in  this  same  simple  substance,  and  must  consist 
in  the  variety  of  relations  to  things  which  are  external.  Just 
as  in  a  centre  or  point,  altogether  simple  as  it  is,  there  is  foimd 
an  infinity  of  angles  formed  by  lines  which  there  meet. 

3.  Everything  in  nature  is  full.  There  are  everywhere  simple 
substances,  separated  in  reality  from  each  other  by  activities  of 
their  own  which  continually  change  their  relations;  and  each 
simple  substance,  or  monad,  which  forms  the  centre  of  a  com- 
pound substance  (as,  for  example,  of  an  animal)  and  the  prin- 
ciple of  its  unity,  is  surrounded  by  a  mass  composed  of  an  in- 
finity of  other  monads,  which  constitute  the  body  proper  of 
this  central  monad;  and  in  accordance  with  the  affections  of 
this  it  represents,  as  a  centre,  the  things  which  are  outside  of 
itself.  And  this  body  is  organic,  when  it  forms  a  sort  of  automa- 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  221 

ton  or  natural  machine;  which  is  a  machine  not  only  in  its 
entirety,  but  also  in  its  smallest  perceptible  parts.  And  as,  be- 
cause of  the  plenitude  of  the  world,  everything  is  connected  and 
each  body  acts  upon  every  other  body,  more  or  less  according 
to  the  distance,  and  by  reaction  is  itself  affected  thereby;  it  fol- 
lows that  each  monad  is  a  riiirror,  living  or  endowed  with  in- 
ternal activity,  representative  according  to  its  point  of  view  of 
the  universe,  and  as  regulated  as  the  universe  itself.  And  per- 
ceptions in  the  monad  spring  one  from  the  other,  by  the  law  of 
appetites  or  by  the  final  causes  of  good  and  evil,  which  consist  in 
visible,  regulated  or  unregulated  perceptions;  just  as  the 
changes  of  bodies  and  external  phenomena  spring  one  from 
another,  by  the  laws  of  efficient  causes,  that  is,  of  movements. 
Thus  there  is  perfect  harmony  between  the  perceptions  of  the 
monad  and  the  movements  of  bodies,  established  at  the  begin- 
ning between  the  system  of  efficient  causes  and  that  of  final 
causes.  And  in  this  consists  the  accord  and  physical  union 
of  the  soul  and  body,  although  neither  one  can  change  the 
laws  of  the  other. 

4.  Each  monad,  with  a  particular  body,  makes  a  living  sub- 
stance. Thus  there  is  not  only  life  everywhere,  provided  with 
members  or  organs,  but  also  there  is  an  infinity  of  degrees  in 
monads,  some  dominating  more  or  less  over  the  others.  But 
when  the  monad  has  organs  so  adjusted  that  by  means  of  them 
there  is  clearness  and  distinctness  in  the  impressions  which  it 
receives  and  consequently  in  the  perceptions  which  represent 
them  (as,  for  example,  when  by  means  of  the  shape  of  the 
humors  of  the  eyes,  the  rays  of  light  are  concentrated  and  act 
with  more  force);  this  can  extend  even  to  feeling  [sentiment], 
that  is,  even  to  a  perception  accompanied  by  memory,  that  is, 
one  a  certain  echo  of  which  remains  a  long  time  to  make  itself 
heard  upon  occasion ;  and  such  a  living  being  is  called  an  ani- 
mal, as  its  monad  is  called  a  soul.  And  when  this  soul  is  ele- 
vated to  reason  it  is  something  more  sublime  and  is  reckoned 
among  spirits,  as  will  soon  be  explained. 

It  is  true  that  animals  are  sometimes  in  the  condition  of 
simple  living  beings,  and  their  souls  in  the  condition  of  simple 


222    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

monads,  namely,  when  their  pjerceptions  are  not  sufficiently 
distinct  to  be  remembered,  as  hapf)ens  in  a  profound,  dreamless 
sleep,  or  in  a  swoon.  But  perceptions  which  have  become  en- 
tirely confused  must  be  re-developed  in  animals,  for  reasons 
which  I  shall  shortly  (§12)  enumerate.  Therefore  it  is  well  to 
make  a  distinction  between  the  perception,  which  is  the  internal 
condition  of  the  monad  representing  external  things,  and  apper- 
ception, which  is  consciousness  or  the  reflective  knowledge  of  this 
internal  state;  the  latter  not  being  given  to  all  souls,  nor  at  all 
times  to  the  same  soul.  And  it  is  for  want  of  this  distinction 
that  the  Cartesians  have  failed,  taking  no  account  of  the  per- 
ceptions of  which  we  are  not  conscious  as  people  take  no  ac- 
count of  imperceptible  bodies.  It  is  this  also  which  made  the 
same  Cartesians  believe  that  only  spirits  are  monads,  that 
there  is  no  soul  of  brutes,  and  still  less  other  principles  of  life. 

And  as  they  shocked  too  much  the  common  opinion  of  men 
by  refusing  feeling  to  brutes,  they  have,  on  the  other  hand,  ac- 
commodated themselves  too  much  to"  the  prejudices  of  the 
multitude,  by  confounding  a  long  swoon,  caused  by  a  great  con- 
fusion of  perceptions,  with  death  strictly  speaking,  where  all 
p>erception  would  cease.  This  confirmed  the  ill-founded  belief 
in  the  destruction  of  some  souls,  and  the  bad  opinion  of  some 
so-called  strong  minds,  who  have  contended  against  the 
immortality  of  our  soul. 

5.  There  is  a  continuity  in  the  i>erceptions  of  animals  which 
bears  some  resemblance  to  reason ;  but  it  is  only  founded  in  the 
memory  of  facts,  and  not  at  all  in  the  knowledge  of  causes.  Thus 
a  dog  shuns  the  stick  with  which  it  has  been  beaten,  because 
memory  represents  to  it  the  p>ain  which  the  stick  has  caused  it. 
And  men  in  so  far  as  they  are  empirics,  that  is  to  say,  in  three- 
fourths  of  their  actions,  act  simply  as  brutes.  For  example,  we 
expect  that  there  will  be  daylight  to-morrow,  because  we  have 
always  had  the  experience ;  only  an  astronomer  foresees  it  by 
reason,  and  even  this  prediction  will  finally  fail  when  the  cause 
of  day,  which  is  not  eternal,  shall  cease.  But  true  reasoning  de- 
pends upon  necessary  or  eternal  truths,  such  as  those  of  logic, 
numbers,  geometry,  which  establish  an  indubitable  connection 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  223 

of  ideas  and  unfailing  consequences.  The  animals  in  which 
these  consequences  are  not  noticed,  are  called  brutes;  but  those 
which  know  these  necessary  truths  are  properly  those  which 
are  called  rational  animals^  and  their  souls  are  called  spirits. 
These  souls  are  capable  of  performing  acts  of  reflection,  and  of 
considering  that  which  is  called  the  ego,  substance,  monad,  soul, 
spirit,  in  a  word,  immaterial  things  and  truths.  It  is  this  which 
renders  us  capable  of  the  sciences  and  of  demonstrative  know- 
ledge. 

6.  Modern  researches  have  taught  us,  and  reason  approves 
of  it,  that  living  beings  whose  organs  are  known  to  us,  that  is  to 
say,  plants  and  animals,  do  not  come  from  putrefaction  or  froni 
chaos,  as  the  ancients  believed,  but  from  pre-formed  seeds,  and 
consequently  by  the  transformation  of  pre-existing  living  be- 
ings. There  are  animalcules  in  the  seeds  of  large  animals,  which 
by  means  of  conception  assume  a  new  dress  which  they  make 
their  own  and  by  means  of  which  they  can  nourish  themselves 
and  increase  their  size,  in  order  to  pass  to  a  larger  theatre  and 
to  accomplish  the  propagation  of  the  large  animal.  It  is  true 
that  the  souls  of  spermatic  human  animals  are  not  rational  and 
do  not  become  so  until  conception  determines  these  animals  to 
the  human  nature.  And  as  generally  animals  are  not  born  alto- 
gether in  conception  or  generation,  neither  do  they  perish  alto- 
gether in  what  we  call  death;  for  it  is  reasonable  that  what  does 
not  begin  naturally,  should  not  end  either  in  the  order  of  na- 
ture. Therefore,  quitting  their  mask  or  their  rags,  they  merely 
return  to  a  more  subtile  theatre  where  they  can,  nevertheless, 
be  just  as  sensitive  and  just  as  well  regulated  as  in  the  larger. 
And  what  we  have  just  said  of  large  animals,  takes  place  also  in 
the  generation  and  death  of  smaller  spermatic  animals,  in  com- 
parison with  which  the  former  may  pass  for  large;  for  every- 
thing extends  ad  infinitum  in  nature. 

Thus  not  only  souls,  but  also  animals,  are  ingenerable  and 
imperishable:  they  are  only  developed,  unfolded,  reclothed, 
unclothed,  transformed:  souls  never  quit  their  entire  body  and 
do  not  pass  from  one  body  into  another  which  is  entirely  new  to 
them. 


224    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

There  is  therefore  no  metempsychosis,  but  there  is  metamor- 
phosis; animals  change,  take  and  leave  only  parts:  the  same 
thing  which  happens  little  by  little  and  by  small  invisible  par- 
ticles but  continually  in  nutrition,  and  suddenly,  visibly  but 
rarely  in  conception  or  death,  which  cause  a  gain  or  loss  of 
everything  at  one  time. 

7.  Up  to  this  time  we  have  spoken  as  simple  physicists:  now 
we  must  advance  to  metaphysics  by  making  use  of  the  great  prin- 
ciple, little  employed  in  general,  which  teaches  that  nothing 
happens  without  a  sufficient  reason;  that  is  to  say,  that  nothing 
happens  without  its  being  possible  for  him  who  should  suffi- 
ciently understand  things,  to  give  a  reason  sufficient  to  deter- 
mine why  it  is  so  and  not  otherwise.  This  principle  laid  down, 
the  first  question  which  should  rightly  be  asked,  would  be  Why 
is  there  something  rather  than  nothing?  For  nothing  is  simpler 
and  easier  than  something.  Further,  suppose  that  things  must 
exist,  we  must  be  able  to  give  a  reason  why  they  must  exist  so 
and  not  otherwise. 

8.  Now  this  sufficient  reason  for  the  existence  of  the  universe 
could  not  be  found  in  the  series  of  contingent  things,  that  is,  of 
bodies  and  of  their  representations  in  souls;  for  matter  being 
indifferent  in  itself  to  motion  and  to  rest  and  to  this  or  another 
motion,  we  could  not  find  the  reason  of  motion  in  it,  and  still 
less  of  a  certain  motion.  And  although  the  present  motion 
which  is  in  matter,  comes  from  the  preceding  motion,  and  that 
from  still  another  preceding,  yet  in  this  way  we  should  never 
make  any  progress,  go  as  far  as  we  might;  for  the  same  question 
would  always  remain. 

Therefore  it  must  be  that  the  sufficient  reason  which  has  no 
need  of  another  reason,  be  outside  this  series  of  contingent 
things  and  be  found  in  a  substance  which  is  its  cause,  or  which 
is  a  necessary  being,  carrying  the  reason  of  its  existence  within 
itself;  otherwise  we  should  still  not  have  a  sufficient  reason  in 
which  we  could  rest.  And  this  final  reason  of  things  is  called 
God. 

9.  This  simple  primitive  substance  must  contain  in  itself 
eminently  the  perfections  contained  in  the  derivative  sub- 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  225 

stances  which  are  its  effects;  thus  it  will  have  perfect  power, 
knowledge  and  will :  that  is,  it  will  have  omnipotence  and  sover- 
eign goodness.  And  a.s  justice,  taken  generally,  is  only  goodness 
conformed  to  wisdom,  there  must  too  be  sovereign  justice  in 
God.  The  reason  which  has  caused  things  to  exist  by  him, 
makes  them  still  dependent  upon  him  in  existing  and  in  work- 
ing :  and  they  are  continually  receiving  from  him  that  which 
gives  them  some  perfection;  but  the  imperfection  which  re- 
mains in  them,  comes  from  the  essential  and  original  limitation 
of  the  creature. 

10.  It  follows  from  the  supreme  perfection  of  God,  that  in 
creating  the  universe  he  has  chosen  the  best  possible  plan,  in 
which  there  is  the  greatest  variety  together  with  the  greatest 
order;  the  best  arranged  ground,  place,  time;  the  most  results 
produced  in  the  most  simple  ways;  the  most  of  power,  know- 
ledge, happiness  and  goodness  in  the  creatures  that  the  uni- 
verse could  permit.  For  since  all  the  possibles  in  the  under- 
standing of  God  laid  claim  to  existence  in  proportion  to  their 
perfections,  the  actual  world,  as  the  resultant  of  all  these 
claims,  must  be  the  most  perfect  possible.  And  without  this  it 
would  not  be  possible  to  give  a  reason  why  things  have  turned 
out  so  rather  than  otherwise. 

11.  The  supreme  wisdom  of  God  compelled  him  to  choose  the 
laws  of  movement  best  adjusted  and  most  suited  to  abstract  or 
metaphysical  reasons.  He  preserves  there  the  same  quantity  of 
total  and  absolute  force,  or  of  actions ;  the  same  quantity  of 
respective  force  or  of  reaction ;  lastly  the  same  quantity  of  di- 
rective force.  Farther,  action  is  always  equal  to  reaction,  and 
the  whole  effect  is  always  equivalent  to  the  full  cause.  And  it  is 
not  surprising  that  we  could  not  by  the  mere  consideration  of 
the  efficient  causes  or  of  matter,  account  for  those  laws  of  move- 
ment which  have  been  discovered  in  our  time,  and  a  part  of 
which  have  been  discovered  by  myself.  For  I  have  found  that 
it  was  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  final  causes,  and  that  these 
laws  do  not  depend  upon  the  principle  of  necessity,  like  logical, 
arithmetical  and  geometrical  truths,  but  upon  the  principle  of 
fitness,  that  is,  upon  the  choice  of  wisdom.  And  this  is  one  of  the 


226    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

most  efficacious  and  evident  proofs  of  the  existence  of  God,  to 
those  who  can  examine  these  matters  thoroughly. 

12.  It  follows,  farther,  from  the  perfection  of  the  supreme 
author,  that  not  only  is  the  order  of  the  entire  universe  the 
most  p>erfect  possible,  but  also  that  each  living  mirror  repre- 
senting the  universe  in  accordance  with  its  p>oint  of  view,  that 
is  to  say,  that  each  monad,  each  substantial  centre,  must  have 
its  perceptions  and  its  desires  as  well  regulated  as  is  compatible 
with  all  the  rest.  Whence  it  follows,  still  farther,  that  souls, 
that  is,  the  most  dominating  monads,  or  rather,  animals,  can- 
not fail  to  awaken  from  the  state  of  stupor  in  which  death  or 
some  other  accident  may  put  them. 

13.  For  everything  in  things  is  regulated  once  for  all  with  as 
much  order  and  harmony  as  is  p>ossible,  supreme  wisdom  and 
goodness  not  being  able  to  act  except  with  perfect  harmony. 
The  present  is  big  with  the  future,  the  future  could  be  read  in 
the  past,  the  distant  is  expressed  in  the  near.  One  could  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  beauty  of  the  universe  in  each  soul, 
if  one  could  unfold  all  its  folds,  which  only  develop  visibly  in 
time.  But  as  each  distinct  perception  of  the  soul  includes  in- 
numerable confused  perceptions  which  comprise  the  whole  uni- 
verse, the  soul  itself  knows  the  things  of  which  it  has  percep- 
tion only  so  far  as  it  has  distinct  and  clear  perceptions  of  them. 

Each  soul  knows  the  infinite,  knows  all,  but  confusedly.  As 
in  walking  on  the  sea-shore  and  hearing  the  great  noise  which 
it  makes,  I  hear  the  individual  sounds  of  each  wave,  of  which 
the  total  sound  is  composed,  but  without  distinguishing  them; 
so  our  confused  perceptions  are  the  result  of  the  impressions 
which  the  whole  universe  makes  upon  us.  It  is  the  same  with 
each  monad.  God  alone  has  a  distinct  consciousness  of  every- 
thing, for  he  is  the  source  of  all.  It  has  been  well  said  that  he  is 
as  centre  everywhere,  but  that  his  circumference  is  nowhere, 
since  without  any  withdrawal  from  this  centre,  everything  is 
immediately  present  to  him. 

14.  As  regards  the  rational  soul,  or  spirit,  there  is  something 
in  it  more  than  in  the  monads,  or  even  in  simple  souls.  It  is  not 
only  a  mirror  of  the  universe  of  creatures,  but  also  an  image  of 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WORKS  227 

the  Divinity.  The  spirit  has  not  only  a  perception  of  the  works 
of  God,  but  it  is  even  capable  of  producing  something  which 
resembles  them,  although  in  miniature.  For,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  marvels  of  dreams  where  we  invent  without  trouble,  and 
even  involuntarily,  things  which  when  awake  we  should  have 
to  think  a  long  time  in  order  to  hit  upon,  our  soul  is  architec- 
tonic in  its  voluntary  actions  also,  and,  discovering  the  sciences 
according  to  which  God  has  regulated  things  (pondere,  mensura, 
numero,  etc.),  it  imitates,  in  its  department  and  in  the  Kttle 
world  where  it  is  permitted  to  exercise  itself,  what  God  does  in 
the  large  world. 

15.  This  is  why  all  spirits,  whether  of  men  or  of  genii,  enter- 
ing by  virtue  of  reason  and  of  the  eternal  truths  into  a  sort  of 
society  with  God,  are  members  of  the  City  of  God,  that  is  to 
say,  of  the  most  perfect  state,  formed  and  governed  by  the 
greatest  and  best  of  monarchs ;  where  there  is  no  crime  without 
punishment,  no  good  actions  without  proportionate  recom- 
pense; and  finally  as  much  virtue  and  happiness  as  is  possible; 
and  this  is  not  by  a  derangement  of  nature,  as  if  what  God  pre- 
pares for  souls  disturbed  the  laws  of  bodies,  but  by  the  very 
order  of  natural  things,  in  virtue  of  the  harmony  pre-estab- 
lished for  all  time  between  the  realms  of  nature  and  of  grace, 
between  God  as  Architect  and  God  as  Monarch ;  so  that  nature 
leads  to  grace  and  grace,  while  making  use.of  nature,  perfects  it. 

16.  Thus  although  reason  cannot  teach  us  the  details,  re- 
served to  Revelation,  of  the  great  future,  we  can  be  assured  by 
this  same  reason  that  things  are  made  in  a  manner  surpassing 
our  desires.  God  also  being  the  most  perfect  and  most  happy, 
and  consequently,  the  most  lovable  of  substances,  and  truly 
pure  love  consisting  in  the  state  which  finds  pleasure  in  the  per- 
fections and  happiness  of  the  loved  object,  this  love  ought  to 
give  us  the  greatest  pleasure  of  which  we  are  capable,  when 
God  is  its  object. 

17.  And  it  is  easy  to  love  him  as  we  ought,  if  we  know  him  as 
I  have  just  described.  For  although  God  is  not  visible  to  our 
external  senses,  he  does  not  cease  to  be  very  lovable  and  to  give 
very  great  pleasure.  We  see  how  much  pleasure  honors  give 


228    GOTTFRIED  WILHELM  VON  LEIBNITZ 

men,  although  they  do  not  at  all  consist  in  the  qualities  of  the 
external  senses. 

Martyrs  and  fanatics  (although  the  affection  of  the  latter  is 
ill-regulated),  show  what  pleasure  of  the  spirit  can  accomplish; 
and  what  is  more,  even  sensuous  pleasures  are  reduced  to  con- 
fusedly known  intellectual  pleasures. 

Music  charms  us,  although  its  beauty  only  consists  in  the 
harmony  of  numbers  and  in  the  reckoning  of  the  beats  or  vibra- 
tions of  sounding  bodies,  which  meet  at  certain  intervals,  of 
which  we  are  not  conscious  and  which  the  soul  does  not  cease 
to  make.  The  pleasures  which  sight  finds  in  proportions  are  of 
the  same  nature;  and  those  caused  by  the  other  senses  amount 
to  almost  the  same  thing,  although  we  cannot  explain  it  so 
clearly. 

i8.  It  may  be  said  that  even  from  the  present  time  on,  the 
love  of  God  makes  us  enjoy  a  foretaste  of  future  felicity.  And 
although  it  is  disinterested,  it  itself  constitutes  our  greatest 
good  and  interest  even  if  we  should  not  seek  it  therein  and 
should  consider  only  the  pleasure  which  it  gives,  without  re- 
gard to  the  utility  it  produces;  for  it  gives  us  perfect  confidence 
in  the  goodness  of  our  author  and  master,  producing  a  true 
tranquillity  of  mind ;  not  like  the  Stoics  who  force  themselves 
to  patience,  but  by  a  present  content  which  assures  us  of  future 
happiness.  And  besijdes  the  present  pleasure,  nothing  can  be 
more  useful  for  the  future;  for  the  love  of  God  fulfills  our  hopes, 
too,  and  leads  us  in  the  road  of  supreme  happiness,  because  by 
virtue  of  the  perfect  order  estabUshed  in  the  universe,  every- 
thing is  done  in  the  best  p>ossible  way,  as  much  for  the  general 
good  as  for  the  greatest  individual  good  of  those  who  are  con- 
vinced of  this  and  are  content  with  the  divine  government; 
this  conviction  cannot  be  wanting  to  those  who  know  how  to 
love  the  source  of  all  good.  It  is  true  that  supreme  felicity,  by 
whatever  beatific  vision  or  knowledge  of  God  it  be  accompanied, 
can  never  be  full;  because,  since  God  is  infinite,  he  cannot  be 
wholly  known.  Therefore  our  happiness  will  never,  and  ought 
not  to,  consist  in  full  joy,  where  there  would  be  nothing  farther 
to  desire,  rendering  our  mind  stupid;  but  in  a  perpetual  pro- 
gress to  new  pleasures  and  to  new  perfections. 


CHRISTIAN  VON  WOLFF 

(1679-1754) 

RATIONAL  PSYCHOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  Latin  *  by 
EDWARD  KENNARD  RAND       " 

THE  ESSENCE  AND  NATURE  OF  THE  SOUL 

§  48.  The  soul  is  a  simple  substance.  For  the  soul  is  not  body 
(§''47)  nor  an  attribute  communicated  to  the  body  (§46),  and 
further,  neither  is  it  a  composite  entity  nor  does  it  inhere  in  a 
composite  entity  ( §  119,  Cosmol}).  Wherefore  since  every  entity 
is  either  composite  or  simple  (§  532,  673,  Ontol})  the  soul  must 
be  a  simple  entity. 

,  Now  since  acts  of  thought  continually  change  and  succeed 
one  another  in  turn,  they  are  to  be  classed  with  modes  (§  151, 
Ontol.)  The  soul,  therefore,  to  which  these  modes  apply,  is  sub- 
ject to  modification  (§  764,  Ontol.),  and  sipce  it  is  obvious  that 
the  soul  lasts  for  some  time  in  conjunction  with  the  body  (for 
whether  it  can  exist  apart  from  the  body  or  not  need  not  be 
established  here)  it  is  per  durable  (§  766,  Ontol).  Certainly  a 
per  durable  and  modifiable  object  is  a  substance.  Therefore 
the  soul  is  a  substance. 

But  the  soul  is  a  simple  entity  by  the  foregoing  proof.  There- 
fore it  is  a  simple  substance. 

§  53.  The  soul  is  endowed  with  a  certain  power.  The  soul  is 
a  substance  ( §  48),  and  since  perceptions  succeed  one  another  in 
the  same,  and  desires  spring  from  perceptions,  and  perceptions 

*  From  Christian  von  Wolff's  Psychologia  rationalis.    Francof.  et  Lips.  1734. 

*  Wolff's  Coswio/ogia  generalis.    Francof.  et  Lips.  1731. 

*  Wolff's  Philosophia  prima  sive  Ontologja.  Francof.  et  Lips.  1730. 


230  CHRISTIAN  VON  WOLFF 

again  from  desires,  as  is  generally  admitted  in  Empiric  Psy- 
chology, its  condition  changes  (§  709,  OntoL).  It  therefore  is 
endowed  with  a  certain  power.  (§  776,  OntoL). 

§  54.  A  power  and  a  faculty  oj  the  soul  are  different  from  one 
another.  For  power  consists  in  the  continual  endeavor  to  act 
( §  724,  OntoL).  Faculties  are  merely  potencies  of  action  on  the 
part  of  the  soul  (§  29,  Psych.  Empir}),  and  thus  have  possibili- 
tiesof  action  ( §  716,  OntoL).  Therefore  a  power  of  the  soul  and 
a  faculty  differ  from  one  another  (§  183,  OntoL). 

§56.  The  soul  continuMly  tends  to  change  its  conditions.  For  it 
is  endowed  -v^ith  a  certain  power.  Wherefore,  since  a  power 
continually  tends  to  change  the  condition  of  the  subject  in 
which  it  is  (§  725,  OntoL),  the  soul,  too,  through  the  mediation 
of  its  own  power,  is  bound  to  tend  continually  to  change  its 
condition. 

$  57.  The  power  of  the  soul  is  absolutely  simple.  For  the  soul 
is  simple  and  thus  lacks  parts  ( §  673,  OntoL).  Let  us  now  sup- 
pK)se  that  the  soul  has  more  than  one  power  distinct  from  one 
another;  since  each  one  of  them  consists  in  the  continued 
endeavor  to  act  (§  724,  OntoL),  each  one  requires  a  particular 
subject  in  which  it  is.*  And  so  we  must  conceive  of  several 
actual  entities  distinct  from  one  another  (§  142,  183,  OntoL), 
which  when  taken  together  with  the  soul  will  be  the  parts  of  the 
same  ( §  341 ,  OntoL).  But  this  is  altogether  absurd  by  the  proof 
above  given. 

§  62.  The  soul  re-presents  to  itself  this  universe  in  accordance 
with  the  location  of  its  organic  body  in  the  universe,  conformably 
to  the  mutations  which  affect  the  organs  of  sensation.  For  this 
law  of  sensations  is  constant  and  inviolable:  if  a  certain  muta- 
tion is  produced  in  some  organ  of  sensation  by  some  sensible 
object  there  coexists  in  the  soul  a  sensation  which  may  be  ex- 
plained to  it  in  an  intelligible  way,  or  which  recognises  in  it  a 
sufficient  reason  why  it  should  be,  and  why  it  should  be  such  as 
it  is.  ( §  85,  Psychol.  Empir.)  Now  sensations  are  perceptions 
of  external  objects,  which  produce  a  change  in  the  organs  of  sen- 
sation ( §  67,  Psychol.  Empir.),  and  hence  while  the  soul  feels,  it 
^  Wolff's  Psychologia  Empirica.  Francof.  et  Lips.  1732. 


RATIONAL  PSYCHOLOGY  231 

re-presents  those  objects  to  itself  (§  24,  Psychol.  Empir.).  And 
since  our  body  is  constantly  in  this  visible  world,  bodies  also 
which  compose  the  same  (§  119,  Cosmol.)  act  constantly  upon 
our  body  in  accordance  with  its  location  in  the  world,  or  the 
universe.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  the  soul  re-presents  to 
itself  this  universe,  or  this  visible  world,  in  accordance  with  the 
location  of  our  organic  body  in  the  universe,  and  conformably 
to  the  mutations  which  the  bodies  of  which  it  is  composed 
produce  in  the  same.  When  we  sleep  we  perceive  nothing 
clearly  and  distinctly  ( §  15).  However  since  the  soul  is  still  in  a 
condition  of  preception,  although  all  its  conceptions  are  con- 
fused or  obscure,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  it  from  still  per- 
ceiving obscurely  its  own  body,  and  the  things  that  impress  it, 
and  hence  from  continuing  this  re-presentation  of  the  world,  so 
that  therefore  it  may  be  said  without  reservation  that  it 
re-presents  to  itself  this  universe. 

§  66.  The  essence  of  the  soul  consists  in  its  power  oj  re-presenting 
(vis  reprcBsentiva)  the  universe,  wMch  power  is  materially  limited 
by  its  location  in  an  organic  body  in  the  universe,  and  formally 
limited  by  the  constitution  of  the  sensory  organs.  For  this  power 
is  the  first  principle  which  is  conceived  with  regard  to  the  soul, 
and  on  which  depend  the  other  attributes  which  are  inherent  in 
it  ( §  65).  Therefore  the  essence  of  the  soul  consists  in  the  same 
(§  16S,  Ontol.). 

§  67.  The  nature  of  the  soul  consists  in  the  same  re-presenting 
power  {vis  reprcesentiva) .  For  by  this  power  of  the  soul  every- 
thing is  activated  that  is  possible  through  the  faculties  of  the 
soul.  Wherefore  since  we  understand  by  the  nature  of  the  soul 
that  principle  of  mutations  in  the  soul  which  is  intrinsic  in  the 
same,  just  as  by  the  nature  of  the  universe  we  understand  that 
principle  of  mutations  in  the  world  which  is  intrinsic  in  the 
same  (§  503,  Cosmol.) ;  and  since  this  principle  of  mutations  is 
power  (§  Sot, Ontol.),  and  since  the  power  with  which  the  soul 
is  endowed  (§  53)  is  only  the  power  of  re-presenting  {vis 
reprcBsentiva)  the  universe  (§62),  that  power  of  re-presenting 
{vis  reprcesentiva)  the  universe  is  likewise  the  nature  of  the 
soul. 


JOHN  LOCKE 

(163 2- I 704) 

AN  ESSAY  CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDER- 
STANDING* 

BOOK  I 
CHAPTER  I.     INTRODUCTION 

1.  An  inquiry  into  the  understanding,  pleasant  and  useful.  — 
Since  it  is  the  understanding  that  sets  man  above  the  rest  of  sens- 
ible beings,  and  gives  him  all  the  advantage  and  dominion 
which  he  has  over  them,  it  is  certainly  a  subject,  even  for  its 
nobleness,  worth  our  labour  to  inquire  into.  The  understand- 
ing, like  the  eye,  whilst  it  makes  us  see  and  p)erceive  all  other 
things,  takes  no  notice  of  itself;  and  it  requires  art  and  pains  to 
set  it  at  a  distance,  and  make  it  its  own  object.  But  whatever  be 
the  difficulties  that  lie  in  the  way  of  this  inquiry,  whatever  it  be 
that  keeps  us  so  much  in  the  dark  to  ourselves,  sure  I  am  that 
all  the  light  we  can  let  in  upon  our  own  minds,  all  the  acquaint- 
ance we  can  make  with  our  own  understandings,  will  not  only 
be  very  pleasant,  but  bring  us  great  advantage  in  directing 
our  thoughts  in  the  search  of  other  things. 

2.  Design.  —  This  therefore  being  my  purpose,  to  inquire 
into  the  original,  certainty,  and  extent  of  human  knowledge, 
together  with  the  grounds  and  degrees  of  belief,  opinion,  and 
assent,  I  shall  not  at  present  meddle  with  the  physical  con- 
sideration of  the  mind,  or  trouble  myself  to  examine  wherein  its 
essence  consists  or  by  what  motions  of  our  spirits,  or  alterations 
of  our  bodies,  we  come  to  have  any  sensation  by  our  organs,  or 
any  ideas  in  our  understandings;  and  whether  those  ideas  do,  in 
their  formation,  any  or  all  of  them,  depend  on  matter  or  not: 

*  London,  1690  ;  2d  col.  ed.  1694 ;  3d  ed.  1697  ;  4th  col.  ed.  1700 ;  ed.  A.  C 
Fraser,  2  vols.  Oxford,  1894. 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  233 

these  are  speculations  which,  however  curious  and  entertaining, 
I  shall  decUne,  as  lying  out  of  my  way  in  the  design  I  am  now 
upon.  It  shall  suffice  to  my  present  purpose,  to  consider  the  dis- 
cerning faculties  of  a  man,  as  they  are  employed  about  the 
objects  which  they  have  to  do  with;  and  I  shall  imagine  I. have 
not  wholly  misemployed  myself  in  the  thoughts  I  shall  have  on 
this  occasion,  if,  in  this  historical,  plain  method,  I  can  give  any 
account  of  the  ways  whereby  our  understandings  come  to 
attain  those  notions  of  things  we  have,  and  can  set  down  any 
measures  of  the  certainty  of  our  knowledge,  or  the  grounds  of 
those  persuasions  which  are  to  be  found  amongst  men,  so  vari- 
ous, different,  and  wholly  contradictory;  and  yet  asserted 
somewhere  or  other  with  such  assurance  and  confidence,  that  he 
that  shall  take  a  view  of  the  opinions  of  mankind,  observe  their 
opposition,  and  at  the  same  time  consider  the  fondness  and 
devotion  wherewith  they  are  embraced,  the  resolution  and 
eagerness  wherewith  they  are  maintained,  may  perhaps  have 
reason  to  suspect  that  either  there  is  no  such  thing  as  truth  at 
all,  or  that  mankind  hath  no  sufficient  means  to  attain  a  certain 
knowledge  of  it. 

3.  Method.  —  It  is  therefore  worth  while  to  search  out  the 
bounds  between  opinion  and  knowledge,  and  examine  by  what 
measures,  in  things  whereof  we  have  no  certain  knowledge,  we 
ought  to  regulate  our  assent,  and  moderate  our  persuasions.  In 
order  whereunto,  I  shall  pursue  this  following  method:  — 

First.  I  shall  inquire  into  the  original  of  those  ideas,  notions, 
or  whatever  else  you  please  to  call  them,  which  a  man  observes, 
and  is  conscious  to  himself  he  has  in  his  mind;  and  the  ways 
whereby  the  understanding  comes  to  be  furnished  with  them. 

Secondly.  I  shall  endeavour  to  show  what  knowledge  the 
understanding  hath  by  those  ideas,  and  the  certainty,  evidence, 
and  extent  of  it. 

Thirdly.  I  shall  make  some  inquiry  into  the  nature  and 
grounds  of  faith  or  opinion;  whereby  I  mean,  that  assent  which 
we  give  to  any  proposition  as  true,  of  whose  truth  yet  we  have 
no  certain  knowledge:  and  here  we  shall  have  occasion  to 
examine  the  reasons  and  degrees  of  assent. 


234  JOHN  LOCKE 

BOOK  II 

CHAPTER  I.   OF  IDEAS  IN  GENERAL,  AND  THEIR 

ORIGINAL 

1.  Idea  is  the  object  of  thinking.  —  Every  man  being  con- 
scious of  himself,  that  he  thinks,  and  that  which  his  mind  is 
applied  about,  whilst  thinking,  being  the  ideas  that  are  there,  it 
is  past  doubt  that  men  have  in  their  mind  several  ideas,  such  as 
are  those  expressed  by  the  words,  whiteness,  hardness,  sweet- 
ness, thinking,  motion,  man,  elephant,  army,  drunkenness,  and 
others:  it  is  in  the  first  place  then  to  be  inquired,  How  he  comes 
by  them?  I  know  it  is  a  received  doctrine,  that  men  have  native 
ideas  and  original  characters  stamped  upon  their  minds  in  their 
very  first  being.  This  opinion  I  have  at  large  examined  already; 
and,  I  suppose,  what  I  have  said  in  the  foregoing  book  will  be 
much  more  easily  admitted,  when  I  have  shown  whence  the 
understanding  may  get  all  the  ideas  it  has,  and  by  what  ways 
and  degrees  they  may  come  into  the  mind;  for  which  I  shall 
appeal  to  every  one's  own  observation  and  experience. 

2.  All  ideas  come  from  sensation  or  reflection.  — Let  us  then 
suppose  the  mind  to  be,  as  we  say,  white  paper,  void  of  all  char- 
acters, without  any  ideas:  How  comes  it  to  be  furnished? 
Whence  comes  it  by  that  vast  store,  which  the  busy  and  bound- 
less fancy  of  man  has  painted  on  it  with  an  almost  endless 
variety?  Whence  has  it  all  the  materials  of  reason  and  know- 
ledge? To  this  I  answer,  in  one  word,  From  experience.  In  that 
all  our  knowledge  is  founded,  and  from  that  it  ultimately 
derives  itself.  Our  observation,  employed  either  about  external 
sensible  objects,  or  about  the  internal  operations  of  our  mind, 
perceived  and  reflected  on  by  ourselves,  is  that  which  supplies 
our  understandings  with  all  the  materials  of  thinking.  These 
two  are  the  fountains  of  knowledge,  from  whence  all  the  ideas 
we  have,  or  can  naturally  have,  do  spring. 

3.  The  object  of  sensation  one  source  of  ideas.  —  First.  Our 
senses,  conversant  about  particular  sensible  objects,  do  convey 
into  the  mind  several  distinct  perceptions  of  things,  according 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  235 

to  those  various  ways  wherein  those  objects  do  affect  them ;  and 
thus  we  come  by  those  ideas  we  have  of  yellow,  white,  heat, 
cold,  soft,  hard,  bitter,  sweet,  and  all  those  which  we  call  sens- 
ible qualities;  which  when  I  say  the  senses  convey  into  the 
mind,  I  mean,  they  from  external  objects  convey  into  the  mind 
what  produces  there  those  perceptions.  This  great  source 
of  most  of  the  ideas  we  have,  depending  wholly  upon  our 
senses,  and  derived  by  them  to  the  understanding,  I  call, 

SENSATION. 

4.  The  operations  of  our  minds  the  other  source  of  them.  — 
Secondly.  The  other  fountain,  from  which  experience  furnish- 
eth  the  understanding  with  ideas,  is  the  perception  of  the  opera- 
tions of  our  own  minds  within  us,  as  it  is  employed  about  the 
ideas  it  has  got;  which  operations  when  the  soul  comes  to  reflect 
on  and  consider,  do  furnish  the  understanding  with  another  set 
of  ideas  which  could  not  be  had  from  things  without;  and  such 
are  perception,  thinking,  doubting,  believing,  reasoning,  know- 
ing, willing,  and  all  the  different  actings  of  our  own  minds; 
which  we,  being  conscious  of,  and  observing  in  ourselves,  do 
from  these  receive  into  our  understandings  as  distinct  ideas,  as 
we  do  from  bodies  affecting  our  senses.  This  source  of  ideas 
every  man  has  wholly  in  himself;  and  though  it  be  not  sense  as 
having  nothing  to  do  with  external  objects,  yet  it  is  very  like  it, 
and  might  properly  enough  be  called  internal  sense.  But  as  I 
call  the  other  sensation,  so  I  call  this  reflection,  the  ideas  it 
affords  being  such  only  as  the  mind  gets  by  reflecting  on  its 
own  operations  within  itself.  By  reflection,  then,  in  the  follow- 
ing part  of  this  discourse,  I  would  be  understood  to  mean  that 
notice  which  the  mind  takes  of  its  own  operations,  and  the 
manner  of  them,  by  reason  whereof  there  come  to  be  ideas  of 
these  operations  in  the  understanding.  These  two,  I  say,  viz., 
external  material  things  as  the  objects  of  sensation,  and  the 
operations  of  our  own  minds  within  as  the  objects  of  reflection, 
are,  to  me,  the  only  originals  from  whence  all  our  ideas  take 
their  beginnings.  The  term  operations  here,  I  use  in  a  large 
sense,  as  comprehending  not  barely  the  actions  of  the  mind 
about  its  ideas,  but  some  sort  of  passions  arising  sometimes 


236  JOHN  LOCKE 

from  them,  such  as  is  the  satisfaction  or  uneasiness  arising 
from  any  thought. 

$.  All  our  ideas  are  of  the  one  or  the  other  of  these.  —  The 
understanding  seems  to  me  not  to  have  the  least  glimmering  of 
any  ideas  which  it  doth  not  receive  from  one  of  these  two.  Ex- 
ternal objects  furnish  the  mind  with  the  ideas  of  sensible  quali- 
ties, which  are  all  those  different  perceptions  they  produce  in 
us;  and  the  mind  furnishes  the  understanding  with  ideas  of  its 
own  operations. 

These,  when  we  have  taken  a  full  survey  of  them,  and  their 
several  modes  [combinations,  and  relations],  we  shall  find  to 
contain  all  our  whole  stock  of  ideas;  and  that  we  have  nothing 
in  our  minds  which  did  not  come  in  one  of  these  two  ways.  Let 
any  one  examine  his  own  thoughts,  and  thoroughly  search  into 
his  understanding,  and  then  let  him  tell  me,  whether  all  the 
original  ideas  he  has  there,  are  any  other  than  of  the  objects  of 
his  senses,  or  of  the  operations  of  his  mind  considered  as  objects 
of  his  reflection ;  and  how  great  a  mass  of  knowledge  soever  he 
imagines  to  be  lodged  there,  he  will,  upon  taking  a  strict  view, 
see  that  he  has  not  any  idea  in  his  mind  but  what  one  of  these 
two  have  imprinted,  though  perhaps  with  infinite  variety  com- 
pounded and  enlarged  by  the  understanding,  as  we  shall  see 
hereafter. 


CHAPTER  II.    OF   SIMPLE   IDEAS 

I.  Uncompounded  appearances.  —  The  better  to  understand 
the  nature,  manner,  and  extent  of  our  knowledge,  one  thing 
is  carefully  to  be  observed  concerning  the  ideas  we  have;  and 
that  is,  that  some  of  them  are  simple,  and  some  complex. 

Though  the  qualities  that  affect  our  senses  are,  in  the  things 
themselves,  so  united  and  blended  that  there  is  no  separation, 
no  distance  between  them ;  yet  it  is  plain  the  ideas  they  produce 
in  the  mind  enter  by  the  senses  simple  and  unmixed.  For 
though  the  sight  and  touch  often  take  in  from  the  same  object, 
at  the  same  time,  different  ideas  —  as  a  man  sees  at  once 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  237 

motion  and  colour,  the  hand  feels  softness  and  warmth  in  the 
same  piece  of  wax  —  yet  the  simple  ideas  thus  united  in  the 
same  subject  are  as  perfectly  distinct  as  those  that  come  in  by 
different  senses;  the  coldness  and  hardness  which  a  man  feels  in 
a  piece  of  ice  being  as  distinct  ideas  in  the  mind  as  the  smell  and 
whiteness  of  a  lily,  or  as  the  taste  of  sugar  and  smell  of  a  rose : 
and  there  is  nothing  can  be  plainer  to  a  man  than  the  clear  and 
distinct  perception  he  has  of  those  simple  ideas;  which,  being 
each  in  itself  uncompounded,  contains  in  it  nothing  but  one 
uniform  appearance  or  conception  in  the  mind,  and  is  not  dis- 
tinguishable into  different  ideas. 

2.  The  mind  can  neither  make  nor  destroy  them.  —  These 
simple  ideas,  the  materials  of  all  our  knowledge,  are  suggested 
and  furnished  to  the  mind  only  by  those  two  ways  above  men- 
tioned, viz.,  sensation  and  reflection.  When  the  understanding 
is  once  stored  with  these  simple  ideas,  it  has  the  power  to 
repeat,  compare,  and  unite  them,  even  to  an  almost  infinite 
variety,  and  so  can  make  at  pleasure  new  complex  ideas.  But 
it  is  not  in  the  power  of  the  most  exalted  wit  or  enlarged  under- 
standing, by  any  quickness  or  variety  of  thought,  to  invent  or 
frame  one  new  simple  idea  in  the  mind,  not  taken  in  by  the 
ways  before  mentioned;  nor  can  any  force  of  the  understand- 
ing destroy  those  that  are  there:  the  dominion  of  man  in  this 
little  world  of  his  own  understanding,  being  much-what  the 
same  as  it  is  in  the  great  world  of  visible  things,  wherein  his 
power,  however  managed  by  art  and  skill,  reaches  no  farther 
than  to  compound  and  divide  the  materials  that  are  made  to 
his  hand  but  can  do  nothing  towards  the  making  the  least  par- 
ticle of  new  matter,  or  destroying  one  atom  of  what  is  already 
in  being.  .  .  . 

CHAPTER  III.    OF  SIMPLE  IDEAS  OF  SENSE 

I.  Division  of  simple  ideas.  —  The  better  to  conceive  the 
ideas  we  receive  from  sensation,  it  may  not  be  amiss  for  us  to 
consider  them  in  reference  to  the  different  ways  whereby  they 
make  their  approaches  to  our  minds,  and  make  themselves  per- 
ceivable by  us. 


238  JOHN  LOCKE 

First,  then,  there  are  some  which  come  into  our  minds  by  one 
sense  only. 

Secondly.  There  are  others  that  convey  themselves  into  the 
mind  by  more  senses  than  one. 

Thirdly.  Others  that  are  had  from  reflection  only. 

Fourthly.  There  are  some  that  make  themselves  way,  and 
are  suggested  to  the  mind,  by  all  the  ways  of  sensation  and 
reflection. 

We  shall  consider  them  apart  under  these  several  heads. 

1.  There  are  some  ideas  which  have  admittance  only  through 
one  sense,  which  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  receive  them.  Thus 
light  and  colours,  as  white,  red,  yellow,  blue,  with  their  several 
degrees  or  shades  and  mixtures,  as  green,  scarlet,  purple,  sea- 
green,  and  the  rest,  come  in  only  by  the  eyes;  all  kinds  of 
noises,  sounds,  and  tones,  only  by  the  ears;  the  several  tastes 
and  smells,  by  the  nose  and  palate.  And  if  these  organs,  or  the 
nerves  which  are  the  conduits  to  convey  them  from  without  to 
their  audience  in  the  brain,  the  mind's  presence-room  (as  I 
may  so  call  it),  are,  any  of  them,  so  disordered  as  not  to  perform 
their  functions,  they  have  no  postern  to  be  admitted  by,  no 
other  way  to  bring  themselves  into  view,  and  be  received  by 
the  understanding. 

The  most  considerable  of  those  belonging  to  the  touch  are 
heat,  and  cold,  and  solidity;  all  the  rest  —  consisting  almost 
wholly  in  the  sensible  configuration,  as  smooth  and  rough ;  or 
else  more  or  less  firm  adhesion  of  the  parts,  as  hard  and  soft, 
tough  and  brittle  —  are  obvious  enough, 

2.  I  think  it  will  be  needless  to  enumerate  all  the  particular 
simple  ideas  belonging  to  each  sense.  Nor  indeed  is  it  ix)ssible 
if  we  would,  there  being  a  great  many  more  of  them  belonging 
to  most  of  the  senses  than  we  have  names  for.  ...  I  shall 
therefore,  in  the  account  of  simple  ideas  I  am  here  giving,  con- 
tent myself  to  set  down  only  such  as  are  most  material  to  our 
present  purpose,  or  are  in  themselves  less  apt  to  be  taken  notice 
of,  though  they  are  very  frequently  the  ingredients  of  our  com- 
plex ideas;  amongst  which  I  think  I  may  well  account  "solid- 
ity," which  therefore  I  shall  treat  of  in  the  next  chapter. 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  239 


CHAPTER  IV.    IDEA  OF  SOLIDITY 

1.  We  receive  this  idea  from  touch.  —  The  idea  of  solidity  we 
receive  by  our  touch ;  and  it  arises  from  the  resistance  which  we 
find  in  body  to  the  entrance  of  any  other  body  into  the  place  it 
possesses,  till  it  has  left  it.  There  is  no  idea  which  we  receive 
more  constantly  from  sensation  than  solidity.  Whether  we 
move  or  rest,  in  what  posture  soever  we  are,  we  always  feel 
something  under  us  that  supports  us,  and  hinders  our  farther 
sinking  downwards;  and  the  bodies  which  we  daily  handle  make 
us  perceive  that  whilst  they  remain  between  them,  they  do,  by 
an  insurmountable  force,  hinder  the  approach  of  the  parts  of  our 
hands  that  press  them.  That  which  thus  hinders  the  approach 
of  two  bodies,  when  they  are  moving  one  towards  another,  I 
call  solidity.  I  will  not  dispute  whether  this  acceptation  of  the 
word  "solid"  be  nearer  to  its  original  signification  than  that 
which  mathematicians  use  it  in;  it  suffices  that,  I  think,  the 
common  notion  of  "solidity,"  will  allow,  if  not  justify,  this  use 
of  it ;  but  if  any  one  think  it  better  to  call  it  impenetrability,  he 
has  my  consent.  Only  I  have  thought  the  term  solidity  the 
more  proper  to  express  this  idea,  not  only  because  of  its  vulgar 
use  in  that  sense,  but  also  because  it  carries  something  more  of 
positive  in  it  than  impenetrability,  which  is  negative,  and  is, 
perhaps,  more  a  consequence  of  solidity  than  solidity  itself. 
This,  of  all  other,  seems  the  idea  most  intimately  connected 
with  and  essential  to  body,  so  as  nowhere  else  to  be  found  or 
imagined  but  only  in  matter;  and  though  our  senses  take  no 
notice  of  it  but  in  masses  of  matter,  of  a  bulk  sufficient  to  cause 
a  sensation  in  us;  yet  the  mind,  having  once  got  this  idea  from 
such  grosser  sensible  bodies,  traces  it  farther  and  considers  it, 
as  well  as  figure,  in  the  minutest  particle  of  matter  that  can 
exist,  and  finds  it  inseparably  inherent  in  body,  wherever  or 
however  modified. 

2.  Solidity  fills  space.  —  This  is  the  idea  which  belongs  to 
body,  whereby  we  conceive  it  to  fill  space.  The  idea  of  which 
filling  of  space  is,  that  where  we  imagine  any  space  taken  up  by 


240  JOHN  LOCKE 

a  solid  substance,  we  conceive  it  so  to  possess  it  that  it  excludes 
all  other  solid  substances,  and  will  for  ever  hinder  any  two 
other  bodies,  that  move  towards  one  another  in  a  straight  line, 
from  coming  to  touch  one  another,  unless  it  removes  from  be- 
tween them  in  a  line  not  parallel  to  that  which  they  move  in. 
This  idea  of  it,  the  bodies  which  we  ordinarily  handle  suflS- 
ciently  furnish  us  with. 

6.  What  it  is.  —  If  any  one  asks  me,  What  this  solidity  is,  I 
send  him  to  his  senses  to  inform  him:  let  him  put  a  flint  or  a 
football  between  his  hands,  and  then  endeavour  to  join  them, 
and  he  will  know.  If  he  thinks  this  not  a  sufficient  explication 
of  solidity,  what  it  is,  and  wherein  it  consists,  I  promise  to  tell 
him  what  it  is,  and  wherein  it  consists,  when  he  tells  me  what 
thinking  is,  or  wherein  it  consists ;  or  explains  to  me  what  ex- 
tension or  motion  is,  which  perhaps  seems  much  easier.  The 
simple  ideas  we  have  are  such  as  experience  teaches  them  us; 
but  if,  beyond  that,  we  endeavour  by  words  to  make  them 
clearer  in  the  mind,  we  shall  succeed  no  better  than  if  we  went 
about  to  clear  up  the  darkness  of  a  blind  man's  mind  by  talking, 
and  to  discourse  into  him  the  ideas  of  light  and  colours.  The 
reason  of  this  I  shall  show  in  another  place. 

CHAPTER  VL    OF  SIMPLE  IDEAS  OF  REFLECTION 

1.  Simple  ideas  of  reflection  are  the  operations  of  the  mind 
about  its  other  ideas.  —  The  mind,  receiving  the  ideas  men- 
tioned in  the  foregoing  chapters  from  without,  when  it  turns  its 
view  inward  upon  itself,  and  observes  its  own  actions  about 
those  ideas  it  has,  takes  from  thence  other  ideas,  which  are  as 
capable  to  be  the  objects  of  its  contemplation  as  any  of  those  it 
received  from  foreign  things. 

2.  The  idea  of  perception,  and  idea  of  willing,  we  have  from 
reflection.  —  The  two  great  and  principal  actions  of  the  mind, 
which  are  most  frequently  considered,  and  which  are  so  fre- 
quent that  every  one  that  pleases  may  take  notice  of  them  in 
himself,  are  these  two:  Perception  or  Thinking;  and  Volition  or 
Willing.   [The  power  of  thinking  is  called  the  Understanding, 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  241 

and  the  power  of  volition  is  called  the  Will;  and  these  two  powers 
or  abilities  in  the  mind  are  denominated  "faculties."!  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  VII.  OF  SIMPLE  IDEAS  OF  BOTH  SENSA- 
TION AND  REFLECTION 

1.  Pleasure  and  pain.  —  There  be  other  simple  ideas  which 
convey  themselves  into  the  mind  by  all  the  ways  of  sensation 
and  reflection;  viz.,  pleasure  or  delight,  and  its  opposite,  pain  or 
uneasiness;  power,  existence,  unity. 

2.  Delight  or  uneasiness,  one  or  other  of  them,  join  them- 
selves to  almost  all  our  ideas  both  of  sensation  and  reflection; 
and  there  is  scarce  any  affection  of  our  senses  from  without,  any 
retired  thought  of  our  mind  within,  which  is  not  able  to  produce 
in  us  pleasure  or  pain.  By  "pleasure"  and  "pain,"  I  would  be 
understood  to  signify  whatsoever  delights  or  molests  us;  whether 
it  arises  from  the  thoughts  of  our  minds,  or  any  thing  operating 
on  our  bodies.  For  whether  we  call  it  "satisfaction,  delight, 
pleasure,  happiness,"  &c.,  on  the  one  side;  or  "uneasiness, 
trouble,  pain,  torment,  anguish,  misery,"  &c.,  on  the  other; 
they  are  still  but  different  degrees  of  the  same  thing,  and  belong 
to  the  ideas  of  pleasure  and  pain,  delight  or  uneasiness;  which 
are  the  names  I  shall  most  commonly  use  for  those  two  sorts  of 
ideas. 

6.  Pleasure  and  pain.  —  Though  what  I  have  here  said  may 
not  perhaps  make  the  ideas  of  pleasure  and  pain  clearer  to  us 
than  our  own  experience  does,  which  is  the  only  way  that  we 
are  capable  of  having  them ;  yet  the  consideration  of  the  reason 
why  they  are  annexed  to  so  many  other  ideas,  serving  to  give  us 
due  sentiments  of  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  the  Sovereign 
Disposer  of  all  things,  may  not  be  unsuitable  to  the  main  end  of 
these  inquiries:  the  knowledge  and  veneration  of  Him  being  the 
chief  end  of  all  our  thoughts,  and  the  proper  business  of  all  our 
understandings. 

7.  Existence  and  unity.  —  Existence  and  unity  are  two  other 
ideas  that  are  suggested  to  the  understanding  by  every  object 
without,  and  every  idea  within.  When  ideas  are  in  our  minds. 


242  •        JOHN  LOCKE 

we  consider  them  as  being  actually  there,  as  well  as  we  consider 
things  to  be  actually  without  us:  which  is,  that  they  exist,  or 
have  existence :  and  whatever  we  can  consider  as  one  thing, 
whether  a  real  being  or  idea,  suggests  to  the  understanding 
the  idea  of  unity. 

8.  Power.  —  Power  also  is  another  of  those  simple  ideas 
which  we  receive  from  sensation  and  reflection.  For,  observing 
in  ourselves  that  we  do  and  can  think,  and  that  we  can  at 
pleasure  move  several  parts  of  our  bodies  which  were  at  rest; 
the  effects  also  that  natural  bodies  are  able  to  produce  in  one 
another  occurring  every  moment  to  our  senses,  we  both  these 
ways  get  the  idea  of  power. 

9.  Succession.  —  Besides  these  there  is  another  idea,  which 
though  suggested  by  our  senses,  yet  is  more  constantly  offered 
us  by  what  passes  in  our  minds;  and  that  is  the  idea  of  succes- 
sion. For  if  we  look  immediately  into  ourselves,  and  reflect  on 
what  is  observable  there,,  we  shall  find  our  ideas  always,  whilst 
we  are  awake  or  have  any  thought,  passing  in  train,  one  going 
and  another  coming  without  intermission. 

10.  Simple  ideas  the  materials  of  all  our  knowledge.  —  These, 
if  they  are  not  all,  are  at  least  (as  I  think)  the  most  considerable 
of  those  simple  ideas  which  the  mind  has,  and  out  of  which  is 
made  all  its  other  knowledge :  all  of  which  it  receives  only  by  the 
two  foremen tioned  ways  of  sensation  and  reflection. 


CHAPTER     VIII.     SOME     FURTHER    CONSIDERA- 
TIONS CONCERNING  OUR  SIMPLE 
IDEAS  OF  SENSATION 

7.  Ideas  in  the  mind,  qualities  in  bodies.  —  To  discover  the 
nature  of  our  ideas  the  better,  and  to  discourse  of  them  intel- 
ligibly, it  will  be  convenient  to  distinguish  them,  as  they  are 
ideas  or  perceptions  in  our  minds:  and  as  they  are  modifica- 
tions of  matter  in  the  bodies  that  cause  such  perceptions  in  us; 
that  so  we  may  not  think  (as  perhaps  usually  is  done)  that  they 
are  exactly  the  images  and  resemblances  of  something  inherent 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  243 

in  the  subject;  most  of  those  of  sensation  being  in  the  mind  no 
more  the  likeness  of  something  existing  without  us  than  the 
names  that  stand  for  them  are  the  likeness  of  our  ideas,  which 
yet  upon  hearing  they  are  apt  to  excite  in  us. 

8.  Whatsoever  the  mind  perceives  in  itself,  or  is  the  immedi- 
ate object  of  perception,  thought,  or  understanding,  that  I  call 
idea;  and  the  power  to  produce  any  idea  in  our  mind,  I  call 
quality  of  the  subject  wherein  that  power  is.  Thus  a  snowball 
having  the  power  to  produce  in  us  the  ideas  of  white,  cold,  and 
round,  the  powers  to  produce  those  ideas  in  us  as  they  are  in  the 
snowball,  I  call  qualities;  and  as  they  are  sensations  or  percep- 
tions in  our  understandings,  I  call  them  "ideas";  which  ideas, 
if  I  speak  of  them  sometimes  as  in  the  things  themselves,  I 
would  be  understood  to  mean  those  qualities  in  the  objects 
which  produce  them  in  us. 

9.  Primary  qualities.  —  [Qualities  thus  considered  in  bodies 
are,  First,  such  as  are  utterly  inseparable  from  the  body,  in  what 
estate  soever  it  be;]  and  such  as,  in  all  the  alterations  and 
changes  it  suffers,  all  the  force  can  be  used  upon  it,  it  constantly 
keeps;  and  such  as  sense  constantly  finds  in  every  particle  of 
matter  which  has  bulk  enough  to  be  perceived,  and  the  mind 
finds  inseparable  from  every  particle  of  matter,  though  less  than 
to  make  itself  singly  be  perceived  by  our  senses;  e.g.,  take  a  grain 
of  wheat,  divide  it  into  two  parts,  each  part  has  still  solidity, 
extension,  figure,  and  mobility;  divide  it  again,  and  it  retains 
still  the  same  qualities:  and  so  divide  it  on  till  the  parts  become 
insensible,  they  must  retain  still  each  of  them  all  those  quali- 
ties. For,  division  (which  is  all  that  a  mill  or  pestle  or  any  other 
body  does  upon  another,  in  reducing  it  to  insensible  parts)  can 
never  take  away  either  solidity,  extension,  figure,  or  mobility 
from  any  body,  but  only  makes  two  or  more  distinct  separate 
masses  of  matter  of  that  which  was  but  one  before;  all  which 
distinct  masses,  reckoned  as  so  many  distinct  bodies,  after  divi- 
sion, make  a  certain  number.  [These  I  call  original  or  primary 
qualities  of  body,  which  I  think  we  may  observe  to  produce 
simple  ideas  in  us,  viz.,  solidity,  extension,  figure,  motion  or 
rest,  and  number. 


244  JOHN  LOCKE 

10.  Secondary  qualities.  —  Secondly.  Such  qualities,  which 
in  truth  are  nothing  in  the  objects  themselves,  but  powers  to 
produce  various  sensations  in  us  by  their  primary  qualities,  i.e., 
by  the  bulk,  figure,  texture,  and  motion  of  their  insensible 
parts,  as  colours,  sounds,  tastes,  &c.,  these  I  call  secondary 
qualities.  To  these  might  be  added  a  third  sort,  which  are 
allowed  to  be  barely  powers,  though  they  are  as  much  real  qual- 
ities in  the  subject  as  those  which  I,  to  comply  with  the  com- 
mon way  of  speaking,  call  qualities,  but,  for  distinction,  second- 
ary qualities.  For,  the  power  in  fire  to  produce  a  new  colour  or 
consistency  in  wax  or  clay,  —  by  its  primary  qualities,  is  as 
much  a  quality  in  fire  as  the  power  it  has  to  produce  in  me  a 
new  idea  or  sensation  of  warmth  or  burning,  which  I  felt  not 
before,  —  by  the  same  primary  qualities,  viz.,  the  bulk,  texture, 
and  motion  of  its  insensible  parts.] 

11.  [How  primary  qualities  produce  their  ideas.  —  The  next 
thing  to  be  considered  is,  how  bodies  produce  ideas  in  us ;  and 
that  is  manifestly  by  impulse,  the  only  way  which  we  can  con- 
ceive bodies  to  operate  in.] 

12.  If,  then,  external  objects  be  not  united  to  our  minds 
when  they  produce  ideas  therein ;  and  yet  we  perceive  these 
original  qualities  in  such  of  them  as  singly  fall  under  our  senses, 
it  is  evident  that  some  motion  must  be  thence  continued  by  our 
nerves,  or  animal  spirits,  by  some  parts  of  our  bodies,  to  the 
brains  or  the  seat  of  sensation,  there  to  produce  in  our  minds 
the  particular  ideas  we  have  of  them.  And  since  the  extension, 
figure,  number,  and  motion  of  bodies  of  an  observable  bigness, 
may  be  perceived  at  a  distance  by  the  sight,  it  is  evident  some 
singly  imperceptible  bodies  must  come  from  them  to  the  eyes, 
and  thereby  convey  to  the  brain  some  motion  which  produces 
these  ideas  which  we  have  of  them  in  us. 

13.  How  secondary.  —  After  the  same  manner  that  the  ideas 
of  these  original  qualities  are  produced  in  us,  we  may  conceive 
that  the  ideas  of  secondary  qualities  are  also  produced,  viz.,  by 
the  operation  of  insensible  particles  on  our  senses.  For  it  being 
manifest  that  there  are  bodies,  and  good  store  of  bodies,  each 
whereof  are  so  small  that  we  cannot  by  any  of  our  senses  dis- 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  245 

cover  either  their  bulk,  figure,  or  motion  (as  is  evident  in  the 
particles  of  the  air  and  water,  and  other  extremely  smaller  than 
those,  perhaps  as  much  smaller  than  the  particles  of  air  or  water 
as  the  particles  of  air  or  water  are  smaller  than  peas  or  hail- 
stones) :  let  us  suppose  at  present  that  the  different  motions  and 
figures,  bulk  and  number,  of  such  particles,  effecting  the  several 
organs  of  our  senses,  produce  in  us  those  different  sensations 
which  we  have  from  the  colours  and  sm^ells  of  bodies;  e.g.,  that 
a  violet,  by  the  impulse  of  such  insensible  particles  of  matter  of 
peculiar  figures  and  bulks,  and  in  different  degrees  and  modifi- 
cations of  their  motions,  causes  the  ideas  of  the  blue  colour  and 
sweet  scent  of  that  flower  to  be  produced  in  our  minds ;  it  being 
no  more  impossible  to  conceive  that  God  should  annex  such 
ideas  to  such  motions,  with  which  they  have  no  similitude,  than 
that  he  should  annex  the  idea  of  pain  to  the  motion  of  a  piece  of 
steel  dividing  our  flesh,  with  which  the  idea  hath  no  resem- 
blance. 

14.  What  I  have  said  concerning  colours  and  smells  may  be 
understood  also  of  tastes  and  sounds,  and  other  the  like  sens- 
ible qualities;  which,  whatever  reality  we  by  mistake  attribute 
to  them,  are  in  truth  nothing  in  the  objects  themselves,  but 
powers  to  produce  various  sensations  in  us,  and  depend  on 
those  primary  qualities,  viz.,  bulk,  figure,  texture,  and  motion 
of  parts  [as  I  have  said]. 

15.  Ideas  of  primary  qualities  are  resemblances;  of  secondary, 
not.  —  From  whence  I  think  it  is  easy  to  draw  this  observation, 
that  the  ideas  of  primary  qualities  of  bodies  are  resemblances  of 
them,  and  their  patterns  do  really  exist  in  the  bodies  them- 
selves; but  the  ideas  produced  in  us  by  these  secondary  qual- 
ities have  no  resemblance  of  them  at  all.  There  is  nothing  like 
our  ideas  existing  in  the  bodies  themselves.  They  are,  in  the 
bodies  we  denominate  from  them,  only  a  power  to  produce 
those  sensations  in  us;  and  what  is  sweet,  blue,  or  warm  in  idea, 
is  but  the  certain  bulk,  figure,  and  motion  of  the  insensible  parts 
in  the  bodies  themselves,  which  we  call  so. 

23.  Three  sorts  of  qualities  in  bodies.  —  The  qualities  then 
that  are  in  bodies,  rightly  considered,  are  of  three  sorts :  — 


246  JOHN  LOCKE 

First.  The  bulk,  figure,  number,  situation,  and  motion  or 
rest  of  their  solid  parts;  those  are  in  them,  whether  we  perceive 
them  or  not;  and  when  they  are  of  that  size  that  we  can  dis- 
cover them,  we  have  by  these  ideas  of  the  thing  as  it  is  in  itself, 
as  is  plain  in  artificial  things.  These  I  call  primary  qualities. 

Secondly.  The  power  that  is  in  any  body,  by  reason  of  its 
insensible  primary  quaUties,  to  operate  after  a  peculiar  manner 
on  any  of  our  senses,  and  thereby  produce  in  us  the  different 
ideas  of  several  colours,  sounds,  smells,  tastes,  &c.  These  are 
usually  called  sensible  qualities. 

Thirdly.  The  power  that  is  in  any  body,  by  reason  of  the 
particular  constitution  of  its  primary  qualities,  to  make  such  a 
change  in  the  bulk,  figure,  texture,  and  motion  of  another  body, 
as  to  make  it  operate  on  our  senses  differently  from  what  it  did 
before.  Thus  the  sun  has  a  power  to  make  wax  white,  and  fire, 
to  make  lead  fluid.   [These  are  usually  called  powers.] 

The  first  of  these,  as  has  been  said,  I  think  may  be  properly 
called  real,  original,  or  primary  qualities,  because  they  are  in 
the  things  themselves,  whether  they  are  perceived  or  no;  and 
upon  their  different  modifications  it  is  that  the  secondary  qual- 
ities depend. 

The  other  two  are  only  powers  to  act  differently  upon  other 
things,  which  powers  result  from  the  different  modifications  of 
those  primary  qualities. 


CHAPTER  IX.    OF  PERCEPTION 

I.  Perception  the  first  simple  idea  of  reflection.  —  Perception, 
as  it  is  the  first  faculty  of  the  mind  exercised  about  our  ideas, 
so  it  is  the  first  and  simplest  idea  we  have  from  reflection,  and 
is  by  some  called  "thinking"  in  general.  Though  thinking,  in 
the  propriety  of  the  English  tongue,  signifies  that  sort  of  opera- 
tion of  the  mind  about  its  ideas  wherein  the  mind  is  active; 
where  it,  with  some  degree  of  voluntary  attention,  considers 
any  thing:  for  in  bare,  naked  perception,  the  mind  is,  for  the 
most  part,  only  passive,  and  what  it  perceives  it  cannot  avoid 
perceiving. 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  247 

2.  Is  only  when  the  mind  receives  the  impression. — What 
perception  is,  every  one  will  know  better  by  reflecting  on  what 
he  does  himself,  when  he  sees,  hears,  feels,  &c.,  or  thinks,  than 
by  any  discourse  of  mine.  Whoever  reflects  on  what  passes  in 
his  own  mind,  cannot  miss  it;  and  if  he  does  not  reflect,  all  the 
words  in  the  world  cannot  make  him  have  any  notion  of  it. 

3.  This  is  certain,  that  whatever  alterations  are  made  in  the 
body,  if  they  reach  not  the  mind;  whatever  impressions  are 
made  on  the  outward  parts,  if  they  are  not  taken  notice  of 
within;  there  is  no  perception.  Fire  may  burn  our  bodies  with 
no  other  effect  than  it  does  a  billet,  unless  the  motion  be  con- 
tinued to  the  brain,  and  there  the  sense  of  heat  or  idea  of  pain 
be  produced  in  the  mind,  wherein  consists  actual  perception. 

8.  Ideas  of  sensation  often  changed  by  the  judgment.  —  We  are 
farther  to  consider  concerning  perception,  that  the  ideas  we 
receive  by  sensation  are  often  in  grown  people  altered  by  the 
judgment  without  our  taking  notice  of  it.  When  we  set  before 
our  eyes  a  round  globe  of  any  uniform  colour,  e.g.,  gold,  ala- 
baster, or  jet,  it  is  certain  that  the  idea  thereby  imprinted  in 
our  mind  is  of  a  flat  circle  variously  shadowed,  with  several 
degrees  of  light  and  brightness  coming  to  our  eyes.  But  we 
having,  by  use,  been  accustomed  to  perceive  what  kind  of  ap- 
pearance convex  bodies  are  wont  to  make  in  us;  what  altera- 
tions are  made  in  the  reflections  of  light  by  the  difference  of  the 
sensible  figures  of  bodies ;  the  judgment  presently,  by  an  habit- 
ual custom,  alters  the  appearances  into  their  causes;  so  that, 
from  that  which  truly  is  variety  of  shadow  or  colour  collecting 
the  figure,  it  makes  it  pass  for  a  mark  of  figure,  and  frames  to 
itself  the  perception  of  a  convex  figure  and  an  uniform  colour; 
when  the  idea  we  receive  from  thence  is  only  a  plane  variously 
coloured,  as  is  evident  in  painting.  [To  which  purpose  I  shall 
here  insert  a  problem  of  that  very  ingenious  and  studious  pro- 
moter of  real  knowledge,  the  learned  and  worthy  Mr.  Molin- 
eaux,  which  he  was  pleased  to  send  me  in  a  letter  some  months 
since:  and  it  is  this:  ** Suppose  a  man  born  blind,  and  now  adult, 
and  taught  by  his  touch  to  distinguish  between  a  cube  and  a 
sphere  of  the  same  metal,  and  nighly  of  the  same  bigness,  so  as 


248  JOHN  LOCKE 

to  tell,  when  he  felt  one  and  the  other,  which  is  the  cube,  which 
the  sphere.  Suppose  then  the  cube  and  sphere  placed  on  a 
table,  and  the  blind  man  to  be  made  to  see;  queere,  Whether  by 
his  sight,  before  he  touched  them,  he  could  now  distinguish  and 
tell  which  is  the  globe,  which  the  cube?"  To  which  the  acute 
and  judicious  proposer  answers:  "Not.  For  though  he  has 
obtained  the  experience  of  how  a  globe,  how  a  cube,  affects  his 
touch;  yet  he  has  not  yet  obtained  the  experience,  that  what 
affects  his  touch  so  or  so,  must  affect  his  sight  so  or  so ;  or  that  a 
protuberant  angle  in  the  cube,  that  pressed  his  hand  unequally, 
shall  appear  to  his  eye  as  it  does  in  the  cube,"  I  agree  with  this 
thinking  gentleman  whom  I  am  proud  to  call  my  friend,  in  his 
answer  to  this  his  problem;  and  am  of  opinion,  that  the  blind 
man,  at  first  sight,  would  not  be  able  with  certainty  to  say 
which  was  the  globe,  which  the  cube,  whilst  he  only  saw  them ; 
though  he  could  unerringly  name  them  by  his  touch,  and  cer- 
tainly distinguish  them  by  the  difference  of  their  figures  felt. 
This  I  have  set  down,  and  leave  with  my  reader,  as  an  occasion 
for  him  to  consider  how  much  he  may  be  beholden  to  experi- 
ence, improvement,  and  acquired  notions,  where  he  thinks  he 
has  not  the  least  use  of,  or  help  from  them.  And  the  rather, 
because  this  observing  gentleman  farther  adds,  that  having 
upon  the  occasion  of  my  book  proposed  this  to  divers  very 
ingenious  men,  he  hardly  ever  met  with  one  that  at  first  gave 
the  answer  to  it  which  he  thinks  true,  till  by  hearing  his  reasons 
they  were  convinced.] 

9.  But  this  is  not,  I  think,  usual  in  any  of  our  ideas  but  those 
received  by  sight;  because  sight,  the  most  comprehensive  of  all 
our  senses,  conveying  to  our  minds  the  ideas  of  light  and  col- 
ours, which  are  peculiar  only  to  that  sense;  and  also  the  far 
different  ideas  of  space,  figure  and  motion,  the  several  varieties 
whereof  change  the  appearances  of  its  proper  objects,  viz.,  light 
and  colours;  we  bring  ourselves  by  use  to  judge  of  the  one  by 
the  other.  This,  in  many  cases,  by  a  settled  habit  in  things 
whereof  we  have  frequent  experience,  is  performed  so  constantly 
and  so  quick,  that  we  take  that  for  the  perception  of  our  sensa- 
tion which  is  an  idea  formed  by  our  judgment;  so  that  one,  viz., 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  249 

that  of  sensation,  serves  only  to  excite  the  other,  and  is  scarce 
taken  notice  of  itself;  as  a  man  who  reads  or  hears  with  atten- 
tion and  understanding,  takes  little  notice  of  the  characters  or 
sounds,  but  of  the  ideas  that  are  excited  in  him  by  them. 

15.  Perception  the  inlet  of  knowledge.  —  Perception,  then, 
being  th.t  first  step  and  degree  towards  knowledge,  and  the  inlet 
of  all  the  materials  of  it,  the  fewer  senses  any  man  as  well  as  any 
other  creature  hath;  and  the  fewer  and  duller  the  impressions 
are  that  are  made  by  them ;  and  the  duller  the  faculties  are  that 
are  employed  about  them,  —  the  more  remote  are  they  from 
that  knowledge  which  is  to  be  found  in  some  men.  But  this, 
being  in  great  variety  of  degrees  (as  may  be  perceived  amongst 
men),  cannot. certainly  be  discovered  in  the  several  species  of 
animals,  much  less  in  their  particular  individuals.  It  sufiEices 
me  only  to  have  remarked  here,  that  perception  is  the  first 
operation*  of  all  our  intellectual  faculties,  and  the  inlet  of  all 
kno\vledge  into  our  minds.  .  .  . 

CHAPTER  XII.    OF  COMPLEX  IDEAS 

I.  Made  by  the  mind  out  of  simple  ones.  —  We  have  hitherto 
considered  those  ideas,  in  the  reception  whereof  the  mind  is 
only  passive,  which  are  those  simple  ones  received  from  sensa- 
tion and  reflection  before  mentioned,  whereof  the  mind  cannot 
make  one  to  itself,  nor  have  any  idea  which  does  not  wholly 
consist  oi  them.  [But  as  the  mind  is  wholly  passive  in  the  recep- 
tion of  all  its  simple  ideas,  so  it  exerts  several  acts  of  its  own, 
whereby  out  of  its  simple  ideas,  as  the  materials  and  founda- 
tions of  the  rest,  the  other  are  framed.  The  acts  of  the  mind 

*  The  other  operations  of  the  mind  discussed  by  Locke  under  simple  ideas 
are  retention  or  memory,  discerning,  comparing,  compounding,  and  abstraction. 
He  then  concludes  in  part  as  follows:  chap,  xi,  §  15.  These  are  the  beginnings 
of  human  knowledge.  —  And  thus  I  have  given  a  short  and,  I  think,  true  history 
of  the  first  beginnings  of  human  knowledge,  whence  the  mind  has  its  first  objects, 
and  by  what  steps  it  makes  its  progress  to  the  laying  in  and  storing  up  those 
ideas  out  of  which  is  to  be  framed  all  the  knowledge  it  is  capable  of;  wherein 
I  must  appeal  to  experience  and  observation  whether  I  am  in  the  right:  the  best 
way  to  come  to  truth  being  to  examine  things  as  really  they  are,  and  not  to  con- 
clude they  are  as  we  fancy  of  ourselves,  or  have  been  taught  by  others  to  imagine. 


2SO  JOHN  LOCKE 

wherein  it  exerts  its  power  over  its  simple  ideas  are  chiefly  these 
three:  (i)  Combining  several  simple  ideas  into  one  compound 
one;  and  thus  all  complex  ideas  are  made.  (2)  The  second  is 
bringing  two  ideas,  whether  simple  or  complex,  together,  and 
setting  them  by  one  another,  so  as  to  take  a  view  of  them  at 
once,  without  uniting  them  into  one;  by  which  way  it  gets  all 
its  ideas  cf  relations.  (3)  The  third  is  separating  them  from  all 
other  ideas  that  accompany  them  in  their  real  existence;  this 
is  called  "abstraction":  and  thus  all  its  general  ideas  are  made. 
This  shows  man's  power  and  its  way  of  operation  to  be  much 
the  same  in  the  material  and  intellectual  world.  For,  the 
materials  in  both  being  such  as  he  has  no  power  over,  either  to 
make  or  destroy,  all  that  man  can  do  is  either  to  unite  them 
together,  or  to  set  them  by  one  another,  or  wholly  separate 
them.  I  shall  here  begin  with  the  first  of  these  in  the  considera- 
tion of  complex  ideas,  and  come  to  the  other  two  in  their  due 
places.]  *  As  simple  ideas  are  observed  to  exist  in  several  com- 
binations united  together,  so  the  mind  has  a  power  to  consider 
several  of  them  united  together  as  one  idea;  and  that  not  only 
as  they  are  united  in  external  objects,  but  as  itself  has  joined 
them.  Ideas  thus  made  up  of  several  simple  ones  put  together  I 
call  complex;  such  as  are  beauty,  gratitude,  a  man,  an  army, 
the  universe;  which,  though  complicated  of  various  simple  ideas 
or  complex  ideas  made  up  of  simple  ones,  yet  are,  when  the 
mind  pleases,  considered  each  by  itself  as  one  entire  thing,  and 
signified  by  one  name. 

2.  Made  voluntarily.  —  In  this  faculty  of  repeating  and  join- 
ing together  its  ideas,  the  mind  has  great  power  in  varying  and 
multiplying  the  objects  of  its  thoughts  infinitely  beyond  what 
sensation  or  reflection  furnished  it  with;  but  all  this  still  con- 
fined to  those  simple  ideas  which  it  received  from  those  two 
sources,  and  which  are  the  ultimate  materials  of  all  its  composi- 
tions. For,  simple  ideas  are  all  from  things  themselves ;  and  of 
these  the  mind  can  have  no  more  nor  other  than  what  are  sug- 
gested to  it.   It  can  have  no  other  ideas  of  sensible  qualities 

*  Brackets  indicate  deviations  from  the  first  edition  of  the  Essay  found  by 
A.  C.  Fraser  in  the  three  other  editions  of  Locke's  lifetime. 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  251 

than  what  come  from  without  by  the  senses,  nor  any  ideas  of 
other  kind  of  operations  of  a  thinking  substance  than  what  it 
finds  in  itself:  but  when  it  has  once  got  these  simple  ideas,  it  is 
not  confined  barely  to  observation,  and  what  offers  itself  from 
without ;  it  can,  by  its  own  power,  put  together  those  ideas  it  has, 
and  make  new  complex  ones  which  it  never  received  so  united. 

3.  Are  either  modes,  substances,  or  relations.  —  Complex 
ideas,  however  compounded  and  decompounded,  though  their 
number  be  infinite,  and  the  variety  endless  wherewith  they  fill 
and  entertain  the  thoughts  of  men,  yet  I  think  they  may  be  all 
reduced  under  these  three  heads:  i.  Modes.  2.  Substances. 
3.  Relations. 

4.  Modes.  —  First.  Modes  I  call  such  complex  ideas  which, 
however  compounded,  contain  not  in  them  the  supposition  of 
subsisting  by  themselves,  but  are  considered  as  dependences  on, 
or  affections  of,  substances;  such  are  the  ideas  signified  by  the 
words,  "triangle,  gratitude,  murder,"  &c.  And  if  in  this  I  use 
the  word  "mode"  in  somewhat  a  different  sense  from  its  ordin- 
ary signification,  I  beg  pardon;  it  being  unavoidable  in  dis- 
courses differing  from  the  ordinary'  received  notions,  either  to 
make  new  words  or  to  use  old  words  in  somewhat  a  new  signi- 
fication: the  latter  whereof,  in  our  present  case,  is  perhaps  the 
more  tolerable  of  the  two. 

5.  Simple  and  mixed  modes.  —  Of  these  modes  there  are  two 
sorts  which  deserve  distinct  consideration.  First.  There  are 
some  which  are  only  variations  or  different  combinations  of  the 
same  simple  idea,  without  the  mixture  of  any  other,  as  a  dozen, 
or  score;  which  are  nothing  but  the  ideas  of  so  many  distinct 
units  added  together:  and  these  I  call  simple  modes,  as  being 
contained  within  the  bounds  of  one  simple  idea.  Secondly. 
There  are  others  compounded  of  simple  ideas,  of  several  kinds, 
put  together  to  make  one  complex  one,  e.g.,  beauty,  consisting 
of  a  certain  composition  of  colour  and  figure,  causing  delight 
in  the  beholder;  theft,  which,  being  the  concealed  change  of  the 
possession  of  any  thing,  without  the  consent  of  the  proprietor, 
contains,  as  is  visible,  a  combination  of  several  ideas  of  several 
kinds;  and  these  I  call  mixed  modes. 


252  JOHN  LOCKE 

6.  Substances  single  or  collective.  —  Secondly.  The  ideas  of 
substances  are  such  combinations  of  simple  ideas  as  are  taken 
to  represent  distinct  particular  things  subsisting  by  themselves, 
in  which  the  supposed  or  confused  idea  of  substance,  such  as  it 
is,  is  always  the  first  and  chief.  Thus,  if  to  substance  be  joined 
the  simple  idea  of  a  certain  dull,  whitish  colour,  with  certain 
degrees  of  weight,  hardness,  ductility,  and  fusibility,  we  have 
the  idea  of  lead;  and  a  combination  of  the  ideas  of  a  certain  sort 
of  figure,  with  the  powers  of  motion,  thought,  and  reasoning, 
joined  to  substance,  make  the  ordinary  idea  of  a  man.  Now  of 
substances  also  there  are  two  sorts  of  ideas: — one  of  single 
substances,  as  they  exist  separately,  as  of  a  man  or  a  sheep ;  the 
other  of  several  of  those  put  together,  as  an  army  of  men  or 
flock  of  sheep  —  which  collective  ideas  of  several  substances 
thus  put  together,  are  as  much  each  of  them  one  single  idea  as 
that  of  a  man  or  an  unit. 

7.  Relation.  —  Thirdly.  The  last  sort  of  complex  ideas  is 
that  we  call  Relation,  which  consists  in  the  consideration  and 
comparing  one  idea  with  another.  Of  these  several  kinds  we 
shall  treat  in  their  order. 

8.  The  abstrusest  ideas  from  the  two  sources.  —  If  we  trace 
the  progress  of  our  minds,  and  with  attention  observe  how  it 
repeats,  adds  together,  and  unites  its  simple  ideas  received  from 
sensation  or  reflection,  it  will  lead  us  farther  than  at  first  per- 
haps we  should  have  imagined.  And  I  believe  we  shall  find,  if 
we  warily  observe  the  originals  of  our  notions,  that  even  the 
most  abstruse  ideas,  how  remote  soever  they  may  seem  from 
sense,  or  from  any  operation  of  our  own  minds,  are  yet  only 
such  as  the  understanding  frames  to  itself,  by  repeating  and 
joining  together  ideas  that  it  had  either  from  objects  of  sense, 
or  from  its  own  operations  about  them ;  so  that  those  even  large 
and  abstract  ideas  are  derived  from  sensation  or  reflection, 
being  no  other  than  what  the  mind,  by  the  ordinary  use  of  its 
own  faculties,  employed  about  ideas  received  from  objects  of 
sense,  or  from  the  operations  it  observes  in  itself  about  them, 
may  and  does  attain  unto. 


I 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  253 

BOOK  IV 
CHAPTER  t.    OF  KNOWLEDGE  IN  GENERAL 

1 .  Our  Knowledge  conversant  about  our  Ideas.  —  Since  the 
mind,  in  all  its  thoughts  and  reasonings,  hath  no  other  imme- 
diate object  but  its  own  ideas,  which  it  alone  does  or  can  con- 
template, it  is  evident  that  our  knowledge  is  only  conversant 
about  them. 

2.  Knowledge  is  the  Perception  of  the  Agreement  or  Disagree- 
ment of  two  Ideas.  —  Knowledge,  then,  seems  to  me  to  be 
nothing  but  the  perception  of  the  connexion  and  agreement, 
or  disagreement  and  repugnancy  of  any  of  our  ideas.  In  this 
alone  it  consists.  Where  this  perception  is,  there  is  knowledge; 
and  where  it  is  not,  there,  though  we  may  fancy,  guess,  or 
believe,  yet  we  always  come  short  of  knowledge.  For  when  we 
know  that  white  is  not  black,  what  do  we  else  but  perceive 
that  these  two  ideas  do  not  agree?  When  we  possess  ourselves 
with  the  utmost  security  of  the  demonstration,  that  the  three 
angles  of  a  triangle  are  equal  to  two  right  ones,  what  do  we 
more  but  perceive,  that  equality  to  two  right  ones  does  neces- 
sarily agree  to,  and  is  inseparable  from  the  three  angles  of  a 
triangle? 

3.  This  Agreement  fourfold.  —  But  to  understand  a  little 
more  distinctly  wherein  this  agreement  or  disagreement  con- 
sists, I  think  we  may  reduce  it  all  to  these  four  sorts: 

I.  Identity,  or  diversity. 
II.  Relation. 

III.  Co-existence,  or  necessary  connexion. 

IV.  Real  existence. 

4.  First,  Of  Identity,  or  Diversity.  —  First,  As  to  the  first 
sort  of  agreement  or  disagreement,  viz.,  identity  or  diversity. 
It  is  the  first  act  of  the  mind,  when  it  has  any  sentiments  or 
ideas  at  all,  to  perceive  its  ideas;  and  so  far  as  it  perceives  them, 
to  know  each  what  it  is,  and  thereby  also  to  perceive  their 
difference,  and  that  one  is  not  another.  This  is  so  absolutely 
necessary,  that,  without  it,  there  could  be  no  knowledge,  no 


254  JOHN  LOCKE 

reasoning,  no  imagination,  no  distinct  thoughts  at  all.  By  this 
the  mind  dearly  and  infallibly  perceives  each  idea  to  agree 
with  itself,  and  to  be  what  it  is;  and  all  distinct  ideas  to  disagree, 
i.e.,  the  one  not  to  be  the  other;  and  this  it  does  without  pains, 
labour,  or  deduction;  but  at  first  view,  by  its  natural  power  of 
perception  and  distinction.  And  though  men  of  art  have 
reduced  this  into  those  general  rules,  ''what  is,  is,"  and  "it  is 
impossible  for  the  same  thing  to  be  and  not  to  be,"  for  ready 
application  in  all  cases,  wherein  there  may  be  occasion  to 
reflect  it  on:  yet  it  is  certain,  that  the  first  exercise  of  this 
faculty  is  about  particular  ideas.  A  man  infallibly  knows,  as 
soon  as  ever  he  has  them  in  his  mind,  that  the  ideas  he  calls 
white  and  round  are  the  very  ideas  they  are,  and  that  they  are 
not  other  ideas  which  he  calls  red  or  square.  Nor  can  any 
maxim  or  proposition  in  the  world  make  him  know  it  clearer  or 
surer  than  he  did  before,  and  without  any  such  general  rule. 
This,  then,  is  the  first  agreement  or  disagreement  which  the 
mind  perceives  in  its  ideas,  which  it  always  perceives  at  first 
sight:  and  if  there  ever  happen  any  doubt  about  it,  it  will 
always  be  found  to  be  about  the  nam.es,  and  not  the  ideas 
themselves,  whose  identity  and  diversity  will  always  be  per- 
ceived as  soon  and  clearly  as  the  ideas  themselves  are ;  nor  can 
it  possibly  be  otherwise. 

5,  Secondly,  Relative.  —  Secondly,  The  next  sort  of  agree- 
ment or  disagreement  the  mind  perceives  in  any  of  its  ideas 
may,  I  think,  be  called  relative,  and  is  nothing  but  the  per- 
ception of  the  relation  between  any  two  ideas,  of  what  kind 
soever,  whether  substances,  modes,  or  any  other.  For,  since 
all  distinct  ideas  must  eternally  be  known  not  to  be  the  same, 
and  so  be  universally  and  constantly  denied  one  of  another, 
there  could  be  no  room  for  any  positive  knowledge  at  all,  if 
we  could  not  perceive  any  relation  between  our  ideas,  and 
find  out  the  agreement  or  disagreement  they  have  one  with 
another,  in  several  ways  the  mind  takes  of  com.paring  them. 

6.  Thirdly,  Of  Co-existence.  —  Thirdly,  The  third  sort  of 
agreement  or  disagreement  to  be  found  in  our  ideas,  which 
the  perception  of  the  mind  is  employed  about,  is  co-existence 


CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  255 

or  non-co-exIstence  in  the  same  subject ;  and  this  belongs  par- 
ticularly to  substances.  Thus,  when  we  pronounce  concerning 
gold,  that  it  is  fixed,  our  knowledge  of  this  truth  amounts  to  no 
more  but  this,  that  fixedness,  or  a  power  to  remain  in  the  fire 
unconsumed,  is  an  idea  that  always  accompanies  and  is  joined 
with  that  particular  sort  of  yellowness,  weight,  fusibility,  malle- 
ableness,  and  solubility  in  aq.  regia,  which  make  our  complex 
idea,  signified  by  the  word  gold. 

7.  Fourthly.  Of  real  Existence.  —  Fourthly,  The  fourth  and 
last  sort  is  that  of  actual  and  real  existence  agreeing  to  any 
idea.  Within  these  four  sorts  of  agreement  or  disagreement 
is,  I  suppose,  contained  all  the  knowledge  we  have,  or  are 
capable  of:  for  all  the  inquiries  we  can  make  concerning  any 
of  our  ideas,  all  that  we  know  or  can  affirm  concerning  any  of 
them  is,  that  it  is,  or  is  not,  the  same  with  some  other;  that  it 
does  or  does  not  always  co-exist  with  som.e  other  idea  in  the 
same  subject ;  that  it  has  this  or  that  relation  with  some  other 
idea;  or  that  it  has  a  real  existence  without  the  mind.  Thus, 
blue  is  not  yellow,  is  of  identity:  two  triangles  upon  equal 
bases  between  two  parallels  are  equal,  is  of  relation:  iron  is 
susceptible  of  magnetical  impressions,  is  of  co-existence:  God 
is,  is  of  real  existence.  Though  identity  and  co-existence  are 
truly  nothing  but  relations,  yet  they  are  such  peculiar  ways  of 
agreement  or  disagreement  of  our  ideas,  that  they  deserve  well 
to  be  considered  as  distinct  heads,  and  not  under  relation  in 
general ;  since  they  are  so  different  grounds  of  affirmation  and 
negation,  as  will  easily  appear  to  any  one,  who  will  but  reflect 
on  what  is  said  in  several  places  of  this  essay.  .  .  . 


GEORGE  BERKELEY 

(1685-1753) 

AN  ESSAY  TOWARDS  A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION* 

1 .  My  design  is  (a)  to  shew  the  manner  wherein  we  perceive 
by  sight  the  Distance,  Magnitude,  and  Situation  of  objects; 
also  (b)  to  consider  the  difference  there  is  betwixt  the  ideas  of 
Sight  and  Touch,  and  whether  there  be  any  idea  common  to 
both  senses. 

2.  It  is,  I  think,  agreed  by  all  that  Distance  of  itself,  and 
immediately,  cannot  be  seen.  For  distance  being  a  line  directed 
endwise  to  the  eye,  it  projects  only  one  point  in  the  fund  of 
the  eye  —  which  point  remains  invariably  the  same,  whether 
the  distance  be  longer  or  shorter. 

3.  I  find  it  also  acknowledged  that  the  estimate  we  make 
of  the  distance  of  objects  considerably  remote  is  rather  an  act 
of  judgment  grounded  on  experience  than  of  sense.  For  ex- 
ample, when  I  perceive  a  great  number  of  intermediate  objects, 
such  as  houses,  fields,  rivers,  and  the  like,  which  I  have  experi- 
enced to  take  up  a  considerable  space,  I  thence  form  a  judg- 
ment or  conclusion,  that  the  object  I  see  beyond  them  is  at  a 
great  distance.  Again,  when  an  object  appears  faint  and  small 
which  at  a  near  distance  I  have  experienced  to  make  a  vigorous 
and  large  appearance,  I  instantly  conclude  it  to  be  far  off.  — 
And  this,  it  is  evident,  is  the  result  of  experience;  without 
which,  from  the  faintness  and  Httleness,  I  should  not  have 
inferred  anything  concerning  the  distance  of  objects. 

4.  But,  when  an  object  is  placed  at  so  near  a  distance  as 
that  the  interval  between  the  eyes  bears  any  sensible  propor- 
tion to  it,  the  opinion  of  speculative  men  is,  that  the  two  optic 

•  Dublin,  1709;  Lond.,  1711;  ib.,  1732,  etc. 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  257 

axes  (the  fancy  that  we  see  only  with  one  eye  at  once  being 
exploded),  concurring  at  the  object,  do  there  make  an  angle, 
by  means  of  which,  according  as  it  is  greater  or  lesser,  the 
object  is  perceived  to  be  nearer  or  farther  off. 

5.  Betwixt  which  and  the  foregoing  manner  of  estimating 
distance  there  is  this  remarkable  difference:  —  that,  whereas 
there  was  no  apparent  necessary  connexion  between  small 
distance  and  a  large  and  strong  appearance,  or  between  great 
distance  and  a  little  and  faint  appearance,  there  appears  a 
very  necessary  connexion  between  an  obtuse  angle  and  near 
distance,  and  an  acute  angle  and  farther  distance.  It  does  not 
in  the  least  depend  upon  experience,  but  may  be  evidently 
known  by  any  one  before  he  had  experienced  it,  that  the  nearer 
the  concurrence  of  the  optic  axes  the  greater  the  angle,  and  the 
remoter  their  concurrence  is  the  lesser  will  be  the  angle  com- 
prehended by  them. 

6.  There  is  another  way,  mentioned  by  optic  writers, 
whereby  they  will  have  us  judge  of  those  distances  in  respect 
of  which  the  breadth  of  the  pupil  hath  any  sensible  bigness. 
And  that  is  the  greater  or  lesser  divergency  of  the  rays,  which, 
issuing  from  the  visible  point,  do  fall  on  the  pupil  —  that  point 
being  judged  nearest  which  is  seen  by  most  diverging  rays, 
and  that  remoter  which  is  seen  by  less  diverging  rays;  and  so 
on,  the  apparent  distance  still  increasing,  as  the  divergency  of 
the  rays  decreases,  till  at  length  it  becomes  infinite  when  the 
rays  that  fall  on  the  pupil  are  to  sense  parallel.  And  after  this 
manner  it  is  said  we  perceive  distance  when  we  look  only  with 
one  eye. 

7.  In  this  case  also  it  is  plain  we  are  not  beholden  to  expe- 
rience: it  being  a  certain,  necessary  truth  that,  the  nearer  the 
direct  rays  falling  on  the  eye  approach  to  a  parallelism,  the 
farther  off  is  the  point  of  their  intersection,  or  the  visible  point 
from  whence  they  flow. 

8.  Now,  though  the  accounts  here  given  of  perceiving  near 
distance  by  sight  are  received  for  true,  and  accordingly  made 
use  of  in  determining  the  apparent  places  of  objects,  they  do 


258  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

nevertheless  seem  to  me  very  unsatisfactory,  and  that  for  these 
following  reasons :  — 

9.  First,  It  is  evident  that,  when  the  mind  perceives  any 
idea,  not  immediately  and  of  itself,  it  must  be  by  the  means 
of  some  other  idea.  Thus,  for  instance,  the  passions  which 
are  in  the  mind  of  another  are  of  themselves  to  me  invisible. 
I  may  nevertheless  perceive  them  by  sight,  though  not  imme- 
diately, yet  by  means  of  the  colours  they  produce  in  the  counte- 
nance. We  often  see  shame  or  fear  in  the  looks  of  a  man,  by 
perceiving  the  changes  of  his  countenance  to  red  or  pale. 

10.  Moreover,  it  is  evident  that  no  idea  which  is  not  itself 
perceived  can  be  to  me  the  means  of  perceiving  any  other  idea. 
If  I  do  not  perceive  the  redness  or  paleness  of  a  man's  face 
themselves,  it  is  impossible  I  should  perceive  by  them  the 
passions  which  are  in  his  mind. 

11.  Now,  from  sect,  ii.,  it  is  plain  that  distance  is  in  its  own 
nature  imperceptible,  and  yet  it  is  perceived  by  sight.  It 
remains,  therefore,  that  it  be  brought  into  view  by  means  of 
some  other  idea,  that  is  itself  immediately  perceived  in  the  act 
of  vision. 

12.  But  those  lines  and  angles  by  means  whereof  some 
men  pretend  to  explain  the  perception  of  distance,  are  them- 
selves not  at  all  perceived,  nor  are  they  in  truth  ever  thought 
of  by  those  unskilful  in  optics.  I  appeal  to  any  one's  expe- 
rience, whether,  upon  sight  of  an  object,  he  computes  its  dis- 
tance by  the  bigness  of  the  angle  made  by  the  meeting  of  the 
two  optic  axes?  or  whether  he  ever  thinks  of  the  greater  or 
lesser  divergency  of  the  rays  which  arrive  from  any  point  to 
his  pupil?  nay,  whether  it  be  not  perfectly  impossible  for  him 
to  perceive  by  sense  the  various  angles  wherewith  the  rays, 
according  to  their  greater  or  lesser  divergence,  do  fall  on  the 
eye?  Every  one  is  himself  the  best  judge  of  what  he  perceives, 
and  what  not.  In  vain  shall  any  man  tell  me,  that  I  perceive 
certain  lines  and  angles  which  introduce  into  my  mind  the 
various  ideas  of  distance,  so  long  as  I  myself  am  conscious 
of  no  such  thing. 

13.  Since  therefore  those  angles  and  lines  are  not  themselves 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  259 

perceived  by  sight,  it  follows,  from  sect,  x.,  that  the  mind  does 
not  by  them  judge  of  the  distance  of  objects. 

14.  Secondly,  The  truth  of  this  assertion  will  be  yet  farther 
evident  to  any  onp  that  considers  those  Hnes  and  angles  have 
no  real  existence  in  nature,  being  only  an  hypothesis  framed 
by  the  mathematicians,  and  by  them  introduced  into  optics 
that  they  might  treat  of  that  science  in  a  geometrical  way. 

15.  The  third  and  last  reason  I  shall  give  for  rejecting  that 
doctrine  is,  that  though  we  should  grant  the  real  existence  of 
those  optic  angles,  &c.,  and  that  it  was  possible  for  the  mind  to 
perceive  them,  yet  these  principles  would  not  be  found  suffi- 
cient to  explain  the  phenomena  of  distance,  as  shall  be  shewn 
hereafter. 

16.  Now,  it  being  already  shewn  that  distance  is  suggested 
to  the  mind,  by  the  mediation  of  some  other  idea  which  is  itself 
perceived  in  the  act  of  seeing,  it  remains  that  we  inquire  what 
ideas  or  sensations  there  be  that  attend  vision  unto  which  we 
may  suppose  the  ideas  of  distance  are  connected,  and  by  which 
they  are  introduced  into  the  mind. 

And,  first,  it  is  certain  by  experience,  that  when  we  look  at  a 
near  object  with  both  eyes,  according  as  it  approaches  or 
recedes  from  us,  we  alter  the  disposition  of  our  eyes,  by  lessen- 
ing or  widening  the  interval  between  the  pupils.  This  disposi- 
tion or  turn  of  the  eyes  is  attended  with  a  sensation,  which 
seems  to  me  to  be  that  which  in  this  case  brings  the  idea  of 
greater  or  lesser  distance  into  the  mind. 

17.  Not  that  there  is  any  natural  or  necessary  connexion 
between  the  sensation  we  perceive  by  the  turn  of  the  eyes 
and  greater  or  lesser  distance.  But  —  because  the  mind  has, 
by  constant  experience,  found  the  different  sensations  corre- 
sponding to  the  different  dispositions  of  the  eyes  to  be  attended 
each  with  a  different  degree  of  distance  in  the  object  —  there 
has  grown  an  habitual  or  customary  connexion  between  those 
two  sorts  of  ideas;  so  that  the  mind  no  sooner  perceives  the 
sensation  arising  from  the  different  turn  it  gives  the  eyes,  in 
order  to  bring  the  pupils  nearer  or  farther  asunder,  but  it 


26o  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

withal  perceives  the  different  idea  of  distance  which  was  wont 
to  be  connected  with  that  sensation.  Just  as,  upon  hearing 
a  certain  sound,  the  idea  is  immediately  suggested  to  the 
understanding  which  custom  had  united  with  it. 

i8.  Nor  do  I  see  how  I  can  easily  be  mistaken  in  this  matter. 
I  know  evidently  that  distance  is  not  perceived  of  itself  —  that, 
by  consequence,  it  must  be  perceived  by  means  of  some  other 
idea,  which  is  immediately  perceived,  and  varies  with  the  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  distance.  I  know  also  that  the  sensation 
arising  from  the  turn  of  the  eyes  is  of  itself  immediately  per- 
ceived, and  various  degrees  thereof  are  connected  with  differ- 
ent distances,  which  never  fail  to  accompany  them  into  my 
mind,  when  I  view  an  object  distinctly  with  both  eyes  whose 
distance  is  so  small  that  in  respect  of  it  the  interval  between 
the  eyes  has  any  considerable  magnitude. 

19.  I  know  it  is  a  received  opinion  that,  by  altering  the 
disposition  of  the  eyes,  the  mind  perceives  whether  the  angle 
of  the  optic  axes,  or  the  lateral  angles  comprehended  between 
the  interval  of  the  eyes  or  the  optic  axes,  are  made  greater 
or  lesser;  and  that,  accordingly,  by  a  kind  of  natural  geometry, 
it  judges  the  point  of  their  intersection  to  be  nearer  or  farther 
off.  But  that  this  is  not  true  I  am  convinced  by  my  own  experi- 
ence, since  I  am  not  conscious  that  I  make  any  such  use  of  the 
perception  I  have  by  the  turn  of  my  eyes.  And  for  me  to  make 
those  judgments,  and  draw  those  conclusions  from  it,  without 
knowing  that  I  do  so,  seems  altogether  incomprehensible. 

20.  From  all  which  it  follows,  that  the  judgment  we  make 
of  the  distance  of  an  object  viewed  with  both  eyes  is  entirely 
the  result  of  experience.  If  we  had  not  constantly  found  cer- 
tain sensations,  arising  from  the  various  dispositions  of  the 
eyes,  attended  with  certain  degrees  of  distance,  we  should  never 
make  those  sudden  judgments  from  them  concerning  the  dis- 
tance of  objects ;  no  more  than  we  would  pretend  to  judge  of  a 
man's  thoughts  by  his  pronouncing  words  we  had  never  heard 
before. 

21.  Secondly,  an  object  placed  at  a  certain  distance  from  the 
eye,  to  which  the  breadth  of  the  pupil  bears  a  considerable 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  261 

proportion,  being  made  to  approach,  is  seen  more  confusedly. 
And  the  nearer  it  is  brought  the  more  confused  appearance  it 
makes.  And,  this  being  found  constantly  to  be  so,  there  arises 
in  the  mind  an  habitual  connexion  between  the  several  degrees 
of  confusion  and  distance;  the  greater  confusion  still  imply- 
ing the  lesser  distance,  and  the  lesser  confusion  the  greater 
distance  of  the  object. 

22.  This  confused  appearance  of  the  object  doth  therefore 
seem  to  be  the  medium  whereby  the  mind  judges  of  distance, 
in  those  cases  wherein  the  most  approved  writers  of  optics 
will  have  it  judge  by  the  different  divergency  with  which  the 
rays  flowing  from  the  radiating  point  fall  on  the  pupil.  No 
man,  I  beheve,  will  pretend  to  see  or  feel  those  imaginary  angles 
that  the  rays  are  supposed  to  form  according  to  their  various 
inclinations  on  his  eye.  But  he  cannot  choose  seeing  whether 
the  object  appear  more  or  less  confused.  It  is  therefore  a 
manifest  consequence  from  what  has  been  demonstrated  that, 
instead  of  the  greater  or  lesser  divergency  of  the  rays,  the  mind 
makes  use  of  the  greater  or  lesser  confusedness  of  the  appear- 
ance, thereby  to  determine  the  apparent  place  of  an  object. 

23.  Nor  doth  it  avail  to  say  there  is  not  any  necessary  con- 
nexion between  confused  vision  and  distance  great  or  small. 
For  I  ask  any  man  what  necessary  connexion  he  sees  between 
the  redness  of  a  blush  and  shame?  And  yet  no  sooner  shall  he 
behold  that  colour  to  arise  in  the  face  of  another  but  it  brings 
into  his  mind  the  idea  of  that  passion  which  hath  been  ob- 
served to  accompany  it. 

24.  What  seems  to  have  misled  the  writers  of  optics  in  this 
matter  is,  that  they  imagine  men  judge  of  distance  as  they  do 
of  a  conclusion  in  mathematics;  betwixt  which  and  the  pre- 
mises it  is  indeed  absolutely  requisite  there  be  an  apparent, 
necessary  connexion.  But  it  is  far  otherwise  in  the  sudden 
judgments  men  make  of  distance.  We  are  not  to  think  that 
brutes  and  children,  or  even  grown  reasonable  men,  whenever 
they  perceive  an  object  to  approach  or  depart  from  them,  do  it 
by  virtue  of  geometry  and  demonstration. 

25.  That  one  idea  may  suggest  another  to  the  mind,  it  will 


262  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

suflEice  that  they  have  been  observed  to  go  together,  without 
any  demonstration  of  the  necessity  of  their  coexistence,  or 
without  so  much  as  knowing  what  it  is  that  makes  them  so  to 
coexist.  Of  this  there  are  innumerable  instances,  of  which  no 
one  can  be  ignorant. 

26.  Thus,  greater  confusion  having  been  constantly  attended 
with  nearer  distance,  no  sooner  is  the  former  idea  perceived  but 
it  suggests  the  latter  to  our  thoughts.  And,  if  it  had  been  the 
ordinary  course  of  nature  that  the  farther  off  an  object  were 
placed  the  more  confused  it  should  appear,  it  is  certain  the  very 
same  perception  that  now  makes  us  think  an  object  approaches 
would  then  have  made  us  to  imagine  it  went  farther  off  —  that 
perception,  abstracting  from  custom  and  experience,  being 
equally  fitted  to  produce  the  idea  of  great  distance,  or  small 
distance,  or  no  distance  at  all. 

27.  Thirdly,  an  object  being  placed  at  the  distance  above 
specified,  and  brought  nearer  to  the  eye,  we  may  nevertheless 
prevent,  at  least  for  some  time,  the  appearance's  growing  more 
confused,  by  straining  the  eye.  In  which  case  that  sensation 
supplies  the  place  of  confused  vision,  in  aiding  the  mind  to 
judge  of  the  distance  of  the  object;  it  being  esteemed  so  much 
the  nearer  by  how  much  the  effort  or  straining  of  the  eye  in 
order  to  distinct  vision  is  greater. 

28.  I  have  here  set  down  those  sensations  of  ideas  that  seem 
to  be  the  constant  and  general  occasions  of  introducing  into  the 
mind  the  different  ideas  of  near  distance.  It  is  true,  in  most 
cases,  that  divers  other  circumstances  contribute  to  frame  our 
idea  of  distance,  viz.  the  particular  number,  size,  kind,  &c.  of 
the  things  seen.  Concerning  which,  as  well  as  all  other  the  fore- 
mentioned  occasions  which  suggest  distance,  I  shall  only 
observe,  they  have  none  of  them,  in  their  own  nature,  any  rela- 
tion or  connexion  with  it:  nor  is  it  possible  they  should  ever 
signify  the  various  degrees  thereof,  otherwise  than  as  by  expe- 
rience they  have  been  found  to  be  connected  with  them. 

41.  From  what  has  been  premised,  it  is  a  manifest  conse- 
quence, that  a  man  born  blind,  being  made  to  see,  would  at 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  263 

first  have  no  idea  of  Distance  by  sight:  the  sun  and  stars,  the 
remotest  objects  as  well  as  the  nearer,  would  all  seem  to  be  in 
his  eye,  or  rather  in  his  mind.  The  objects  intromitted  by  sight 
would  seem  to  him  (as  in  truth  they  are)  no  other  than  a  new 
set  of  thoughts  or  sensations,  each  whereof  is  as  near  to  him 
as  the  perceptions  of  pain  or  pleasure,  or  the  most  inward 
passions  of  his  soul.  For,  our  judging  objects  perceived  by 
sight  to  be  at  any  distance,  or  without  the  mind,  is  (vid.  sect. 
28)  entirely  the  effect  of  experience,  which  one  in  those  cir- 
cumstances could  not  yet  have  attained  to. 

42.  It  is  indeed  otherwise  upon  the  common  supposition  — 
that  men  judge  of  distance  by  the  angle  of  the  optic  axes,  just 
as  one  in  the  dark,  or  a  blind  man  by  the  angle  comprehended 
by  two  sticks,  one  whereof  he  held  in  his  hand.  For,  if  this 
were  true,  it  would  follow  that  one  blind  from  his  birth,  being 
made  to  see,  should  stand  in  need  of  no  new  experience,  in  order 
to  perceive  distance  by  sight.  But  that  this  is  false  has,  I  think, 
been  sufficiently  demonstrated. 

43.  And  perhaps,  upon  a  strict  inquiry,  we  shall  not  find 
that  even  those  who  from  their  birth  have  grown  up  in  a  con- 
tinued habit  of  seeing  are  irrecoverably  prejudiced  on  the  other 
side,  to  wit,  in  thinking  what  they  see  to  be  at  a  distance  from 
them.  For,  at  this  time  it  seems  agreed  on  all  hands,  by  those 
who  have  had  any  thoughts  of  that  matter,  that  colours,  which 
are  the  proper  and  immediate  object  of  sight,  are  not  without  the 
mind.  —  But  then,  it  will  be  said,  by  sight  we  have  also  the  ideas 
of  extension,  and  figure,  and  motion;  all  which  m.ay  well  be 
thought  without  and  at  some  distance  from  the  mind,  though 
colour  should  not.  In  answer  to  this,  I  appeal  to  any  man's 
experience,  whether  the  visible  extension  of  any  object  do  not 
appear  as  near  to  him  as  the  colour  of  that  object;  nay,  whether 
they  do  not  both  seem  to  be  in  the  very  same  place.  Is  not  the 
extension  we  see  coloured,  and  is  it  possible  for  us,  so  much  as 
in  thought, .to  separate  and  abstract  colour  from  extension? 
Now,  where  the  extension  is,  there  surely  is  the  figure,  and 
there  the  motion  too.  I  speak  of  those  which  are  perceived  by 
sight. 


264  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

44.  But,  for  a  fuller  explication  of  this  point,  and  to  shew 
that  the  immediate  objects  of  sight  are  not  so  much  as  the 
ideas  or  resemblances  of  things  placed  at  a  distance,  it  is 
requisite  that  we  look  nearer  into  the  matter,  and  carefully 
observe  what  is  meant  in  common  discourse  when  one  says, 
that  which  he  sees  is  at  a  distance  from  him.  Suppose,  for 
example,  that  looking  at  the  moon  I  should  say  it  were  fifty 
or  sixty  semidiameters  of  the  earth  distant  from  me.  Let  us 
see  what  moon  this  is  spoken  of.  It  is  plain  it  cannot  be  the 
visible  moon,  or  anything  like  the  visible  moon,  or  that  which 
I  see  —  which  is  only  a  round  luminous  plain,  of  about  thirty 
visible  points  in  diameter.  For,  in  case  I  am  carried  from  the 
place  where  I  stand  directly  towards  the  moon,  it  is  manifest 
the  object  varies  still  as  I  go  on;  and,  by  the  time  that  I  am 
advanced  fifty  or  sixty  semidiameters  of  the  earth,  I  shall  be  so 
far  from  being  near  a  small,  round,  luminous  flat  that  I  shall 
perceive  nothing  like  it  —  this  object  having  long  since  disap- 
peared, and,  if  I  would  recover  it,  it  must  be  by  going  back  to 
the  earth  from  whence  I  set  out.  Again,  suppose  I  perceive  by 
sight  the  faint  and  obscure  idea  of  something,  which  I  doubt 
whether  it  be  a  man,  or  a  tree,  or  a  tower,  but  judge  it  to  be  at 
the  distance  of  about  a  mile.  It  is  plain  I  cannot  mean  that 
what  I  see  is  a  mile  off,  or  that  it  is  the  image  or  likeness  of  any- 
thing which  is  a  mile  off;  since  that  every  step  I  take  towards 
it  the  appearance  alters,  and  from  being  obscure,  small,  and 
faint,  grows  clear,  large,  and  vigorous.  And  when  I  come  to 
the  mile's  end,  that  which  I  saw  first  is  quite  lost,  neither  do  I 
find  anything  in  the  likeness  of  it. 

45.  In  these  and  the  like  instances,  the  truth  of  the  matter, 
I  find,  stands  thus:  —  Having  of  a  long  time  experienced  cer- 
tain ideas  perceivable  by  touch  —  as  distance,  tangible  figure, 
and  solidity  —  to  have  been  connected  with  certain  ideas  of 
sight,  I  do,  upon  perceiving  these  ideas  of  sight,  forthwith  con- 
clude what  tangible  ideas  are,  by  the  wonted  ordinary  course 
of  nature,  like  to  follow.  Looking  at  an  object,  I  perceive  a 
certain  visible  figure  and  colour,  with  some  degree  of  faintness 
and  other  circumstances,  which,  from  what  I  have  formerly 


i 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  265 

observed,  determine  me  to  think  that  if  I  advance  forward  so 
many  paces,  miles,  &c,,  I  shall  be  affected  with  such  and  such 
ideas  of  touch.  So  that,  in  truth  and  strictness  of  speech,  I 
neither  see  distance  itself,  nor  anything  that  I  take  to  be  at  a 
distance.  I  say,  neither  distance  nor  things  placed  at  a  distance 
are  themselves,  or  their  ideas,  truly  perceived  by  sight.  This 
I  am  persuaded  of,  as  to  what  concerns  myself.  And  I  believe 
whoever  will  look  narrowly  into  his  own  thoughts,  and  examine 
what  he  means  by  saying  he  sees  this  or  that  thing  at  a  dis- 
tance, will  agree  with  me,  that  what  he  sees  only  suggests  to  his 
understanding  that,  after  having  passed  a  certain  distance,  to 
be  measured  by  the  motion  of  his  body,  which  is  perceivable  by 
touch,  he  shall  come  to  perceive  such  and  such  tangible  ideas, 
which  have  been  usually  connected  with  such  and  such  visible 
ideas.  But,  that  one  might  be  deceived  by  these  suggestions 
of  sense,  and  that  there  is  no  necessary  connexion  between 
visible  and  tangible  ideas  suggested  by  them,  we  need  go  no 
farther  than  the  next  looking-glass  or  picture  to  be  convinced. 
—  Note  that,  when  I  speak  of  tangible  ideas,  I  take  the  word 
idea  for  any  immediate  object  of  sense  or  understanding  —  in 
which  large  signification  it  is  commonly  used  by  the  moderns. 

46.  From  what  we  have  shewn,  it  is  a  manifest  consequence 
that  the  ideas  of  Space,  Outness,  and  things  placed  at  a  dis- 
tance are  not,  strictly  speaking,  the  object  of  sight;  they  are 
not  otherwise  perceived  by  the  eye  than  by  the  ear.  Sitting 
in  my  study  I  hear  a  coach  drive  along  the  street;  I  look 
through  the  casement  and  see  it;  I  walk  out  and  enter  into  it. 
Thus,  common  speech  would  incline  one  to  think  I  heard,  saw, 
and  touched  the  same  thing,  to  wit,  the  coach.  It  is  neverthe- 
less certain  the  ideas  intromitted  by  each  sense  are  widely 
different,  and  distinct  from  each  other;  but,  having  been  ob- 
served constantly  to  go  together,  they  are  spoken  of  as  one  and 
the  same  thing.  By  the  variation  of  the  noise,  I  perceive  the 
different  distances  of  the  coach,  and  know  that  it  approaches 
before  I  look  out.  Thus,  by  the  ear  I  perceive  distance  just 
after  the  same  manner  as  I  do  by  the  eye. 

47.  I  do  not  nevertheless  say  I  hear  distance,  in  like  manner 


266  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

as  I  say  that  I  see  it  —  the  ideas  perceived  by  hearing  not 
being  so  apt  to  be  confounded  with  the  ideas  of  touch  as  those 
of  sight  are.  So  likewise  a  man  is  easily  convinced  that  bodies 
and  external  things  are  not  properly  the  object  of  hearing,  but 
only  sounds,  by  the  mediation  whereof  the  idea  of  this  or  that 
body,  or  distance,  is  suggested  to  his  thoughts.  But  then  one 
is  with  more  difficulty  brought  to  discern  the  difference  there  is 
betwixt  the  ideas  of  sight  and  touch:  though  it  be  certain,  a 
man  no  more  sees  and  feels  the  same  thing,  than  he  hears  and 
feels  the  same  thing, 

48.  One  reason  of  which  seems  to  be  this.  It  is  thought  a 
great  absurdity  to  imagine  that  one  and  the  same  thing  should 
have  any  more  than  one  extension  and  one  figure.  But,  the 
extension  and  figure  of  a  body  being  let  into  the  mind  two  ways, 
and  that  indifferently,  either  by  sight  or  touch,  it  seems  to  fol- 
low that  we  see  the  same  extension  and  the  same  figure  which 
we  feel. 

49.  But,  if  we  take  a  close  and  accurate  view  of  the  matter, 
it  must  be  acknowledged  that  we  never  see  and  feel  one  and  the 
same  object.  That  which  is  seen  is  one  thing,  and  that  which  is 
felt  is  another.  If  the  visible  figure  and  extension  be  not  the 
same  with  the  tangible  figure  and  extension,  we  are  not  to  infer 
that  one  and  the  same  thing  has  divers  extensions.  The  true 
consequence  is  that  the  objects  of  sight  and  touch  are  two  dis- 
tinct things.  It  may  perhaps  require  some  thought  rightly  to 
conceive  this  distinction.  And  the  difficulty  seems  not  a  little 
increased,  because  the  combination  of  visible  ideas  hath  con- 
stantly -the  same  name  as  the  combination  of  tangible  ideas 
wherewith  it  is  connected  —  which  doth  of  necessity  arise  from 
the  use  and  end  of  language. 

50.  In  order,  therefore,  to  treat  accurately  and  unconfusedly 
of  vision,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  there  are  two  sorts  of 
objects  apprehended  by  the  eye  —  the  one  primarily  and 
immediately,  the  other  secondarily  and  by  intervention  of  the 
former.  Those  of  the  first  sort  neither  are  nor  appear  to  be 
without  the  mind,  or  at  any  distance  off.  They  may,  indeed, 
grow  greater  or  smaller,  more  confused,  or  more  clear,  or  more 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  267 

faint.  But  they  do  not,  cannot  approach  or  recede  from  us. 
Whenever  we  say  an  object  is  at  a  distance,  whenever  we  say 
it  draws  near,  or  goes  farther  off,  we  must  always  mean  it  of 
the  latter  sort,  which  properly  belong  to  the  touch,  and  are  not 
so  truly  perceived  as  suggested  by  the  eye,  in  hke  manner  as 
thoughts  by  the  ear. 

51.  No  sooner  do  we  hear  the  words  of  a  familiar  language 
pronounced  in  our  ears  but  the  ideas  corresponding  thereto 
present  themselves  to  our  minds:  in  the  very  same  instant 
the  sound  and  the  meaning  enter  the  understanding :  so  closely 
are  they  united  that  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  keep  out  the  one 
except  we  exclude  the  other  also.  We  even  act  in  all  respects 
as  if  we  heard  the  very  thoughts  themselves.  So  likewise  the 
secondary  objects,  or  those  which  are  only  suggested  by  sight, 
do  often  more  strongly  affect  us,  and  are  more  regarded,  than 
the  proper  objects  of  that  sense;  along  with  which  they  enter 
into  the  mind,  and  with  which  they  have  a  far  more  strict 
connexion  than  ideas  have  with  words.  Hence  it  is  we  find  it 
so  difficult  to  discriminate  between  the  immediate  and  mediate 
objects  of  sight,  and  are  so  prone  to  attribute  to  the  former 
what  belongs  only  to  the  latter.  They  are,  as  it  were,  most 
closely  twisted,  blended,  and  incorporated  together.  And  the 
prejudice  is  confirmed  and  riveted  in  our  thoughts  by  a  long 
tract  of  time,  by  the  use  of  language,  and  want  of  reflection. 
However,  I  doubt  not  but  any  one  that  shall  attentively  con- 
sider what  we  have  already  said,  and  shall  say  upon  this  sub- 
ject before  we  have  done  (especially  if  he  pursue  it  in  his  own 
thoughts),  may  be  able  to  deliver  himself  from  that  prejudice. 
Sure  I  am,  it  is  worth  some  attention  to  whoever  would  under- 
stand the  true  nature  of  vision. 

52.  I  have  now  done  with  distance,  and  proceed  to  shew 
how  it  is  that  we  perceive  by  sight  the  Magnitude  of  objects. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  some  that  we  do  it  by  angles,  or  by  angles 
in  conjunction  with  distance.  But,  neither  angles  nor  distance 
being  perceivable  by  sight,  and  the  things  we  see  being  in  truth 
at  no  distance  from  us,  it  follows  that,  as  we  have  shewn  lines 


268  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

and  angles  not  to  be  the  medium  the  mind  makes  use  of  in 
apprehending  the  apparent  place,  so  neither  are  they  the 
medium  whereby  it  apprehends  the  apparent  magnitude  of 
objects. 

53.  It  is  well  known  that  the  same  extension  at  a  near  dis- 
tance shall  subtend  a  greater  angle,  and  at  a  farther  distance  a 
lesser  angle.  And  by  this  principle  (we  are  told)  the  mind  esti- 
mates the  magnitude  of  an  object,  comparing  the  angle  under 
which,  it  is  seen  with  its  distance,  and  thence  inferring  the 
magnitude  thereof.  What  inclines  men  to  this  mistake  (beside 
the  humour  of  making  one  see  by  geometry)  is,  that  the  same 
perceptions  or  ideas  which  suggest  distance  do  also  suggest 
magnitude.  But,  if  we  examine  it,  we  shall  find  they  suggest 
the  latter  as  immediately  as  the  former.  I  say,  they  do  not  first 
suggest  distance  and  then  leave  it  to  the  judgment  to  use  that 
as  a  medium  whereby  to  collect  the  magnitude ;  but  they  have 
as  close  and  immediate  a  connexion  with  the  magnitude  as  with 
the  distance;  and  suggest  magnitude  as  independently  of  dis- 
tance, as  they  do  distance  independently  of  magnitude.  All 
which  will  be  evident  to  whoever  considers  what  has  been 
already  said  and  what  follows. 

54.  It  has  been  shown  there  are  two  sorts  of  objects- appre- 
hended by  sight,  each  whereof  has  its  distinct  magnitude,  or 
extension  —  the  one,  properly  tangible,  i.e.  to  be  perceived  and 
measured  by  touch,  and  not  immediately  falling  under  the 
sense  of  seeing;  the  other,  properly  and  immediately  visible, 
by  mediation  of  which  the  former  is  brought  in  view.  Each 
of  these  magnitudes  are  greater  or  lesser,  according  as  they 
contain  in  them  more  or  fewer  points,  they  being  made  up  of 
points  or  minimums.  For,  whatever  may  be  said  of  extension 
in  abstract,  it  is  certain  sensible  extension  is  not  infinitely  divi- 
sible. There  is  a  minimum  tangibile,  and  a  minimum  visibile, 
beyond  which  sense  cannot  perceive.  This  every  one's  experi- 
ence will  inform  him. 

55.  The  magnitude  of  the  object  which  exists  without  the 
mind,  and  is  at  a  distance,  continues  always  invariably  the 
same:  but,  the  visible  object  still  changing  as  you  approach 


A  NEW  TOEORY  OF  VISION  269 

to  or  recede  from  the  tangible  object,  it  hath  no  fixed  and  deter- 
minate greatness.  Whenever  therefore  we  speak  of  the  magni- 
tude of  any  thing,  for  instance  a  tree  or  a  house,  we  must  mean 
the  tangible  magnitude;  otherwise. there  can  be  nothing  steady 
and  free  from  ambiguity  spoken  of  it.  Now,  though  the  tangi- 
ble and  visible  magnitude  do  in  truth  belong  to  two  distinct 
objects,  I  shall  nevertheless  (especially  since  those  objects  are 
called  by  the  same  name,  and  are  observed  to  coexist),  to  avoid 
tediousness  and  singularity  of  speech,  sometimes  speak  of  them 
as  belonging  to  one  and  the  same  thing. 

56.  Now,  in  order  to  discover  by  what  means  the  magni- 
tude of  tangible  objects  is  perceived  by  sight,  I  need  only  reflect 
on  what  passes  in  my  own  mind,  and  observe  what  those  things 
be  which  introduce  the  ideas  of  greater  or  lesser  into  my 
thoughts, when  I  look  on  any  object.  And  these  I  find  to  be, 
first,  the  magnitude  or  extension  of  the  visible  object,  which, 
being  immediately  perceived  by  sight,  is  connected  with  that 
other  which  is  tangible  and  placed  at  a  distance :  secondly,  the 
confusion  or  distinctness:  and  thirdly,  the  vigorousness  of  faint- 
ness  of  the  aforesaid  visible  appearance.  Cceteris  paribus,  by 
how  much  the  greater  or  lesser  the  visible  object  is,  by  so  much 
the  greater  or  lesser  do  I  conclude  the  tangible  object  to  be. 
But,  be  the  idea  immediately  perceived  by  sight  never  so  large, 
yet,  if  it  be  withal  confused,  I  judge  the  magnitude  of  the  thing 
to  be  but  small.  If  it  be  distinct  and  clear,  I  judge  it  greater. 
And,  if  it  be  faint,  I  apprehend  it  to  be  yet  greater.  .  .  . 

57.  Moreover,  the  judgments  we  make  of  greatness  do,  in 
like  manner  as  those  of  distance,  depend  on  the  disposition  of 
the  eye;  also  on  the  figure,  number,,  and  situation  of  inter- 
mediate objects,  and  other  circumstances  that  have  been  ob- 
served to  attend  great  or  small  tangible  magnitudes.  Thus, 
for  instance,  the  very  same  quantity  of  visible  extension  which 
in  the  figure  of  a  tower  doth  suggest  the  idea  of  great  magni- 
tude shall  in  the  figure  of  a  m.an  suggest  the  idea  of  much  smaller 
magnitude.  That  this  is  owing  to  the  experience  we  have  had 
of  the  usual  bigness  of  a  tower  and  a  man,  no  one,  I  suppose, 
need  be  told. 


270  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

58.  It  is,  also  evident  that  confusion  or  faintness  have  no 
more  a  necessary  connexion  with  little  or  great  magnitude 
than  they  have  with  little  or  great  distance.  As  they  suggest 
the  latter,  so  they  suggest  the  former  to  our  minds.  And,  by 
consequence,  if  it  were  not  for  experience,  we  should  no  more 
judge  a  faint  or  confused  appearance  to  be  connected  with 
great  or  Uttle  magnitude  than  we  should  that  it  was  connected 
with  great  or  little  distance. 

63.  Moreover,  it  is  not  only  certain  that  any  idea  of  sight 
might  not  have  been  connected  with  this  or  that  idea  of  touch 
we  now  observe  to  accompany  it,  but  also  that  the  greater 
visible  magnitudes  might  have  been  connected  with  and 
introduced  into  our  minds  lesser  tangible  magnitudes,  and 
the  lesser  visible  magnitudes  greater  tangible  magnitudes. 
Nay,  that  it  actually  is  so,  we  have  daily  experience  —  that 
object  which  makes  a  strong  and  large  appearance  not  seem- 
ing near  so  great  as  another  the  visible  magnitude  whereof  is 
much  less,  but  more  faint,  and  the  appearance  upper,  or  which 
is  the  same  thing,  painted  lower  on  the  retina,  which  faintness 
and  situation  suggest  both  greater  magnitude  and  greater 
distance. 

64.  From  which,  and  from  sect.  57  and  58,  it  is  manifest 
that,  as  we  do  not  perceive  the  magnitude  of  objects  immedi- 
ately by  sight,  so  neither  do  we  perceive  them  by  the  media- 
tion of  anything  which  has  a  necessary  connexion  with  them. 
Those  ideas  that  now  suggest  unto  us  the  various  magnitudes 
of  external  objects  before  we  touch  them  might  possibly  have 
suggested  no  such  thing;  or  they  might  have  signified  them 
in  a  direct  contrary  manner,  so  that  the  very  same  ideas  on 
the  perception  whereof  we  judge  an  object  to  be  small  might 
as  well  have  served  to  make  us  conclude  it  great;  —  those 
ideas  being  in  their  own  nature  equally  fitted  to  bring  into 
our  minds  the  idea  of  small  or  great,  or  no  size  at  all,  of  outward 
objects,  just  as  the  words  of  any  language  are  in  their  own 
nature  indifferent  to  signify  this  or  that  thing,  or  nothing  at  all. 

65.  As  we  see  distance  so  we  see  magnitude.  And  we  see 
both  in  the  same  way  that  we  see  shame  or  anger  in  the  looks 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  271 

of  a  man.  Those  passions  are  themselves  invisible;  they  are 
nevertheless  let  in  by  the  eye  along  with  colours  and  altera- 
tions of  countenance  which  are  the  immediate  object  of  vision, 
and  which  signify  them  for  no  other  reason  than  barely  because 
they  have  been  observed  to  accompany  them.  Without  which 
experience  we  should  no  more  have  taken  blushing  for  a  sign 
of  shame  than  of  gladness. 

66.  We  are  nevertheless  exceedingly  prone  to  imagine  those 
things  which  are  perceived  only  by  the  mediation  of  others  to 
be  themselves  the  immediate  objects  of  sight,  or  at  least  to 
have  in  their  own  nature  a  fitness  to  be  suggested  by  them 
before  ever  they  had  been  experienced  to  coexist  with  them. 
From  which  prejudice  every  one  perhaps  will  not  find  it  easy 
to  emancipate  *  himself ,  by  any  the  clearest  convictions  of 
reason.  And  there  are  some  grounds  to  think  that,  if  there 
was  one  only  invariable  and  universal  language  in  the  world, 
and  that  men  were  born  with  the  faculty  of  speaking  it,  it 
would  be  the  opinion  of  some,  that  the  ideas  in  other  men's 
minds  were  properly  perceived  by  the  ear,  or  had  at  least  a 
necessary  and  inseparable  tie  with  the  sounds  which  were 
ajQ&xed  to  them.  All  which  seems  to  arise  from  want  of  a  due 
application  of  our  discerning  faculty,  thereby  to  discriminate 
between  the  ideas  that  are  in  our  understandings,  and  consider 
them  apart  from  each  other;  which  would  preserve  us  from 
confounding  those  that  are  different,  and  make  us  see  what 
ideas  do,  and  what  do  not,  include  or  imply  this  or  that  other 
idea. 

77.  [^For  the  further  clearing  up  of  this  point,  it  is  to  be 
observed,  that  what  we  immediately  and  properly  see  are  only 
lights  and  colours  in  sundry  situations  and  shades,  and  degrees 
of  faintness  and  clearness,  confusion  and  distinctness.  All 
which  visible  objects  are  only  in  the  mind;  nor  do  they  suggest 
aught  external,  whether  distance  or  magnitude,  otherwise  than 
by  habitual  connexion,  as  words  do  things.  We  are  also  to 
remark,  that  beside  the  straining  of  the  eyes,  and  beside  the 
^  What  follows  in  this  section  is  not  in  the  first  edition.    . 


272  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

vivid  and  faint,  the  instinct  and  confused  appearances  (which, 
bearing  some  proportion  to  lines  and  angles,  have  been  sub- 
stituted instead  of  them  in  the  foregoing  part  of  this  Treatise), 
there  are  other  means  which  suggest  both  distance  and  magni- 
tude —  particularly  the  situation  of  visible  points  or  objects, 
as  upper  or  lower;  the  former  suggesting  a  farther  distance  and 
greater  magnitude,  the  latter  a  nearer  distance  and  lesser  mag- 
nitude —  all  which  is  an  effect  only  of  custom  and  experience, 
there  being  really  nothing  intermediate  in  the  line  of  distance 
between  the  uppermost  and  the  lowermost,  which  are  both 
equidistant,  or  rather  at  no  distance  from  the  eye;  as  there  is 
also  nothing  in  upper  or  lower  which  by  necessary  connexion 
should  suggest  greater  or  lesser  magnitude.  Now,  as  these  cus- 
tomary experimental  means  of  suggesting  distance  do  likewise 
suggest  magnitude,  so  they  suggest  the  one  as  immediately  as 
the  other.  I  say,  they  do  not  (Vid.  sect.  53)  first  suggest  dis- 
tance, and  then  leave  the  mind  from  thence  to  infer  or  compute 
magnitude,  but  suggest  magnitude  as  immediately  and  directly 
as  they  suggest  distance.] 

78.  This  phenomenon  of  the  horizontal  moon  is  a  clear 
instance  of  the  insufficiency  of  lines  and  angles  for  explaining 
the  way  wherein  the  mind  perceives  and  estimates  the  magni- 
tude of  outward  objects.  There  is,  nevertheless,  a  use  of  com- 
putation by  them  —  in  order  to  determine  the  apparent  mag- 
nitude of  things,  so  far  as  they  have  a  connexion  with  and  are 
proportional  to  those  other  ideas  or  perceptions  which  are  the 
true  and  immediate  occasions  that  suggest  to  the  mind  the 
apparent  magnitude  of  things.  But  this  in  general  may,  I 
think,  be  observed  concerning  mathematical  computation  in 
optics  —  that  it  can  never  be  very  precise  and  exact,  since  the 
judgments  we  make  of  the  magnitude  of  external  things  do 
often  depend  on  several  circumstances  which  are  not  propor- 
tional to  or  capable  of  being  defined  by  lines  and  angles. 

79.  From  what  has  been  said,  we  may  safely  deduce  this 
consequence,  to  wit,  that  a  man  born  blind,  and  made  to  see, 
would,  at  first  opening  of  his  eyes,  make  a  very  different  judg- 
ment of  the  magnitude  of  objects  intromitted  by  them  from 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  273 

what  others  do.  He  would  not  consider  the  ideas  of  sight  with 
reference  to,  or  as  having  any  connexion  with  the  idea  of  touch. 
His  view  of  them  being  entirely  terminated  within  themselves, 
he  can  no  otherwise  judge  them  great  or  small  than  as  they 
contain  a  greater  or  lesser  number  of  visible  points.  Now,  it 
being  certain  that  any  visible  point  can  cover  or  exclude  from 
view  only  one  other  visible  point,  it  follows  that  whatever 
object  intercepts  the  view  of  another  hath  an  equal  number 
of  visible  points  with  it;  and,  consequently,  they  shall  both 
be  thought  by  him  to  have  the  same  magnitude.  Hence,  it  is. 
evident  one  in  those  circumstances  would  judge  his  thumb, 
with  which  he  might  hide  a  tower,  or  hinder  its  being  seen,  equal 
to  that  tower;  or  his  hand,  the  interposition  whereof  might  con- 
ceal the  firmament  from  his  view,  equal  to  the  firmament:  how 
great  an  inequahty  soever  there  may,  in  our  apprehensions, 
seem  to  be  betwixt  those  two  things,  because  of  the  customary 
and  close  connexion  that  has  grown  up  in  our  minds  between 
the  objects  of  sight  and  touch,  whereby  the  very  different  and 
distinct  ideas  of  those  two  senses  are  so  blended  and  con- 
founded together  as  to  be  mistaken  for  one  and  the  same  thing 
—  out  of  which  prejudice  we  cannot  easily  extricate  ourselves. 

127.  It  having  been  shewn  that  there  are  no  abstract  ideas 
of  figure,  and  that  it  is  impossible  for  us,  by  any  precision  of 
thought,  to  frame  an  idea  of  extension  separate  from  all  other 
visible  and  tangible  qualities,  which  shall  be  common  both  to 
sight  and  touch  —  the  question  now  remaining  is,  Whether 
the  particular  extensions,  figures,  and  motions  perceived  by 
sight,  be  of  the  same  kind  with  the  particular  extensions,  figures, 
and  motions  perceived  by  touch?  In  answer  to  which  I  shall 
venture  to  lay  down  the  following  proposition:  —  The  exten- 
sion, figures,  and  motions  perceived  by  sight  are  specifically  dis- 
tinct from  the  ideas  of  touch,  called  by  the  same  names;  nor  is  there 
any  such  thing  as  one  idea,  or  kind  of  idea,  common  to  both 
senses.  This  proposition  may,  without  much  difficulty,  be  col- 
lected from  what  hath  been  said  in  several  places  of  this  Essay. 
But,  because  it  seems  so  remote  from,  and  contrary  to  the 


274  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

received  notions  and  settled  opinion  of  mankind,  I  shall  at- 
tempt to  demonstrate  it  more  particularly  and  at  large  by  the 
following  arguments:  — 

128.  First,  When,  upon  perception  of  an  idea,  I  range  it 
under  this  or  that  sort,  it  is  because  it  is  perceived  after  the 
same  manner,  or  because  it  has  likeness  or  conformity  with, 
or  affects  me  in  the  same  way  as  the  ideas  of  the  sort  I  rank 
it  under.  In  short,  it  must  not  be  entirely  new,  but  have  some- 
thing in  it  old  and  already  perceived  by  me.  It  must,  I  say, 
have  so  much,  at  least,  in  common  with  the  ideas  I  have  before 
known  and  named,  as  to  make  me  give  it  the  same  name  with 
them.  But,  it  has  been,  if  I  mistake  not,  clearly  made  out  that 
a  man  horn  blind  would  not,  at  first  reception  of  his  sight,  think 
the  things  he  saw  were  of  the  same  nature  with  the  objects  of 
touch,  or  had  anything  in  common  with  them;  but  that  they 
were  a  new  set  of  ideas,  perceived  in  a  new  manner,  and  en- 
tirely different  from  all  he  had  ever  perceived  before.  So  that 
he  would  not  call  them  by  the  same  name,  nor  repute  them 
to  be  of  the  same  sort,  with  anything  he  had  hitherto  known. 

129.  Secondly,  Light  and  colours  are  allowed  by  all  to  con- 
stitute a  sort  or  species  entirely  different  from  the  ideas  of 
touch ;  nor  will  any  man,  I  presume,  say  they  can  make  them- 
selves perceived  by  that  sense.  But  there  is  no  other  immediate 
object  of  sight  besides  light  and  colours.  It  is  therefore  a  direct 
consequence,  that  there  is  no  idea  .common  to  both  senses. 

130.  It  is  a  prevailing  opinion,  even  amongst  those  who 
have  thought  and  writ  most  accurately  concerning  our  ideas, 
and  the  ways  whereby  they  enter  into  the  understanding,  that 
something  more  is  perceived  by  sight  than  barely  light  and 
colours  with  their  variations.  Mr.  Locke  termeth  sight  'the 
most  comprehensive  of  all  our  senses,  conveying  to  our  minds 
the  ideas  of  light  and  colours,  which  are  peculiar  only  to  that 
sense;  and  also  the  far  different  ideas  of  space,  figure,  and 
motion.'  (Essay  on  Human  Understanding,  b.  II.  ch.  9.  s.  9.) 
Space  or  distance,  we  have  shewn,  is  no  otherwise  the  object 
of  sight  than  of  hearing.  (Vid.  sect.  46.)  And,  as  for  figure 
and  extension,  I  leave  it  to  any  one  that  shall  calmly  attend 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  275 

to  his  own  clear  and  distinct  ideas  to  decide  whether  he  had 
any  idea  intromitted  immediately  and  properly  by  sight  save 
only  light  and  colours:  or,  whether  it  be  possible  for  him  to 
frame  in  his  mind  a  distinct  abstract  idea  of  visible  extension,  or 
figure,  exclusive  of  all  colour;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  whether 
he  can  conceive  colour  without  visible  extension?  For  my 
own  part,  I  must  confess,  I  am  not  able  to  attain  so  great  a 
nicety  of  abstraction.  I  know  very  well  that,  in  a  strict  sense, 
I  see  nothing  but  light  and  colours,  with  their  several  shades 
and  variations.  He  who  beside  these  doth  also  perceive  by 
sight  ideas  far  different  and  distinct  from  them,  hath  that 
faculty  in  a  degree  more  perfect  and  comprehensive  than  I  can 
pretend  to.  It  must  be  owned,  indeed,  that,  by  the  mediation 
of  light  and  colours,  other  far  different  ideas  are  suggested  to  my 
mind.  But  then,  upon  this  score,  I  see  no  reason  why  sight 
should  be  thought  more  'comprehensive'  than  the  hearing, 
which,  beside  sounds  which  are  peculiar  to  that  sense,  doth,  by 
their  mediation,  suggest  not  only  space,  figure,  and  motion,  but 
also  all  other  ideas  whatsoever  that  can  be  signified  by  words. 
131.  Thirdly,  It  is,  I  think,  an  axiom  universally  received, 
that  'quantities  of  the  same  kind  may  be  added  together  and 
make  one  entire  sum.'  Mathematicians  add  lines  together;  but 
they  do  not  add  a  line  to  a  solid,  or  conceive  it  as  making  one 
sum  with  a  surface.  These  three  kinds  of  quantity  being 
thought  incapable  of  any  such  mutual  addition,  and  conse- 
quently of  being  compared  together  in  the  several  ways  of 
proportion,  are  by  them  for  that  reason  esteemed  entirely 
disparate  and  heterogeneous.  Now  let  any  one  try  in  his 
thoughts  to  add  a  visible  line  or  surface  to  a  tangible  line  or 
surface,  so  as  to  conceive  them  making  one  continued  sum  or 
whole.  He  that  can  do  this  may  think  them  homogeneous; 
but  he  that  cannot  must,  by  the  foregoing  axiom,  think  them 
heterogeneous.  A  blue  and  a  red  line  I  can  conceive  added 
together  into  one  sum  and  making  one  continued  fine;  but, 
to  make,  in  my  thoughts,  one  continued  line  of  a  visible  and 
tangible  line  added  together,  is,  I  find,  a  task  far  more  diffi- 
cult, and  even  insurmountable  —  and  I  leave  it  to  the  reflec- 


276  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

tion  and  experience  of  every  particular  person  to  determine  for 
himself. 

132.  A  farther  confirmation  of  our  tenet  may  be  drawn 
from  the  solution  of  I^tr.  Molyneux's  problem,  published  by 
Mr.  Locke  in  his  Essay:  which  I  shall  set  down  as  it  there  lies, 
together  with  Mr.  Locke's  opinion  of  it:  —  'Suppose  a  man 
born  blind,  and  now  adult,  and  taught  by  his  touch  to  distin- 
guish between  a  cube  and  a  sphere  of  the  same  metal,  and 
nighly  of  the  same  bigness,  so  as  to  tell  when  he  felt  one  and 
the  other,  which  is  the  cube,  and  which  the  sphere.  Suppose 
then  the  cube  and  sphere  placed  on  a  table,  and  the  blind  man 
made  to  see:  Quaere,  Whether  by  his  sight,  before  he  touched 
them,  he  could  now  distinguish,  and  tell,  which  is  the  globe, 
which  the  cube.  To  which  the  acute  and  judicious  proposer 
answers:  Not.  For,  though  he  has  obtained  the  experience  of 
how  a  globe,  how  a  cube  affects  his  touch;  yet  he  has  not  yet 
attained  the  experience,  that  what  affects  his  touch  so  or  so 
must  affect  his  sight  so  or  so :  or  that  a  protuberant  angle  in  the 
cube,  that  pressed  his  hand  unequally,  shall  appear  to  his  eye 
as  it  doth  in  the  cube.  I  agree  with  this  thinking  gentleman, 
whom  I  am  proud  to  call  my  friend,  in  his  answer  to  this  his 
problem ;  and  am  of  opinion  that  the  blind  man,  at  first  sight, 
would  not  be  able  with  certainty  to  say,  which  was  the  globe, 
which  the  cube,  whilst  he  only  saw  them.'  (Locke's  Essay  on 
Human  Understanding,  b.  II.  ch.  9.  s.  8.^) 

133.  Now,  if  a  square  surface  perceived  by  touch  be  of  the 
same  sort  with  a  square  surface  perceived  by  sight,  it  is  certain 
the  blind  man  here  mentioned  might  know  a  square  surface 
as  soon  as  he  saw  it.  It  is  no  more  but  introducing  into  his 
mind,  by  a  new  inlet,  an  idea  he  has  been  already  well  ac- 
quainted with.  Since  therefore  he  is  supposed  to  have  known 
by  his  touch  that  a  cube  is  a  body  terminated  by  square  sur- 
faces; and  that  a  sphere  is  not  terminated  by  square  surfaces 
—  upon  the  supposition  that  a  visible  and  tangible  square  differ 
only  in  numero,  it  follows  that  he  might  know,  by  the  unerring 

1  See  Leibnitz  {Nouveaux  Essais,  liv.  II.  ch.  9),  who  disputes  the  alleged 
heterogeneity. 


A  NEW  THEORY  OF  VISION  277 

mark  of  the  square  surfaces,  which  was  the  cube,  and  which  not, 
while  he  only  saw  them.  We  must  therefore  allow,  either  that 
visible  extension  and  figures  are  specifically  distinct  from  tangi- 
ble extension  and  figures,  or  else,  that  the  solution  of  this  prob- 
lem, given  by  those  two  thoughtful  and  ingenious  men,  is 
wrong. 

134.  Much  more  might  be  laid  together  in  proof  of  the  pro- 
position I  have  advanced.  But,  what  has  been  said  is,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  sufiicient  to  convince  any  one  that  shall  yield  a 
reasonable  attention.  And,  as  for  those  that  will  not  be  at  the 
pains  of  a  little  thought,  no  multiplication  of  words  will  ever 
suflSce  to  make  them  understand  the  truth,  or  rightly  conceive 
my  meaning. 

135.  I  cannot  let  go  the  above-mentioned  problem  without 
some  reflection  on  it.  It  hath  been  made  evident  that  a  man 
blind  from  his  birth  would  not,  at  first  sight,  denominate  any- 
thing he  saw,  by  the  names  he  had  been  used  to  appropriate 
to  ideas  of  touch.  (Vid.  sect.  106.)  Cube,  sphere,  table  are 
words  he  has  known  applied  to  things  perceivable  by  touch, 
but  to  things  perfectly  intangible  he  never  knew  them  applied. 
Those  words,  in  their  wonted  application,  always  marked  out 
to  his  mind  bodies  or  solid  things  which  were  perceived  by  the 
resistance  they  gave.  But  there  is  no  solidity,  no  resistance  or 
protrusion,  perceived  by  sight.  In  short,  the  ideas  of  sight  are 
all  new  perceptions,  to  which  there  be  no  names  annexed  in  his 
mind ;  he  cannot  therefore  understand  what  is  said  to  him  con- 
cerning them.  And,  to  ask  of  the  two  bodies  he  saw  placed  on 
the  table,  which  was  the  sphere,  which  the  cube,  were  to  him  a 
question  downright  bantering  and  unintelligible;  nothing  he 
sees  being  able  to  suggest  to  his  thoughts  the  idea  of  body,  dis- 
tance, or,  in  general,  of  anything  he  had  already  known. 

136.  It  is  a  mistake  to  think  the  same  thing  affects  both 
sight  and  touch.  If  the  same  angle  or  square  which  is  the 
object  of  touch  be  also  the  object  of  vision,  what  should  hinder 
the  blind  man,  at  first  sight,  from  knowing  it?  For,  though 
the  manner  wherein  it  affects  the  sight  be  different  from  that 
wherein  it  affected  his  touch,  yet,  there  being,  beside  this  man- 


278  GEORGE  BERKELEY 

ner  of  circumstance,  which  is  new  and  unknown,  the  angle  or 
figure,  which  is  old  and  known,  he  cannot  choose  but  discern  it. 

147.  Upon  the  whole,  I  think  we  may  fairly  conclude  that 
the  prope'r  objects  of  vision  constitute  the  Universal  Language 
of  Nature,  whereby  we  are  instructed  how  to  regulate  our 
actions,  in  order  to  attain  those  things  that  are  necessary  to 
the  preservation  and  well-being  of  our  bodies,  as  also  to  avoid 
whatever  may  be  hurtful  and  destructive  of  them.  It  is  by  their 
information  that  we  are  principally  guided  in  all  the  transac- 
tions and  concerns  of  life.  And  the  manner  wherein  they  sig- 
nify and  mark  out  unto  us  the  objects  which  are  at  a  distance 
is  the  same  with  that  of  languages  and  signs  of  human  appoint- 
ment; which  do  not  suggest  the  things  signified  by  any  likeness 
or  identity  of  nature,  but  only  by  an  habitual  connexion  that 
experience  has  made  us  to  observe  between  them. 

148.  Suppose  one  who  had  always  continued  blind  be  told 
by  his  guide  that  after  he  has  advanced  so  many  steps  he 
shall  come  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  or  be  stopped  by  a  wall ; 
must  not  this  to  him  seem  very  admirable  and  surprising? 
He  cannot  conceive  how  it  is  possible  for  mortals  to  frame  such 
predictions  as  these,  which  to  him  would  seem  as  strange  and 
unaccountable  as  prophecy  does  to  others.  Even  they  who 
are  blessed  with  the  visive  faculty  may  (though  familiarity 
make  it  less  observed)  find  therein  sufficient  cause  of  admira- 
tion. The  wonderful  art  and  contrivance  wherewith  it  is  ad- 
Justed  to  those  ends  and  purposes  for  which  it  was  apparently 
designed ;  the  vast  extent,  number,  and  variety  of  objects  that 
are  at  once,  with  so  much  ease,  and  quickness,  and  pleasure, 
suggested  by  it  —  all  these  afford  subject  for  much  and  pleasing 
speculation,  and  may,  if  anything,  give  us  some  glimmering 
analogous  praenotion  of  things,  that  are  placed  beyond  the 
certain  discovery  and  comprehension  of  our  present  state. 


DAVID  HUME 

(1711-1766) 

A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE* 

BOOK  I.    OF  THE  UNDERSTANDING 

PART  I.  OF  IDEAS,  THEIR  ORIGIN,  COMPOSITION, 
CONNEXION,  b-C. 

Section  I.    Of  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas 

All  the  perceptions  of  the  human  mind  resolve  themselves 
into  two  distinct  kinds,  which  I  shall  call  Impressions  and 
Ideas.  The  difiference  betwixt  these  consists  in  the  degrees 
of  force  and  hveliness  with  which  they  strike  upon  the  mind, 
and  make  their  way  into  our  thought  or  consciousness.  Those 
perceptions,  which  enter  with  most  force  and  violence,  we  may 
name  impressions;  and  under  this  name  I  comprehend  all  our 
sensations,  passions  and  emotions,  as  they  make  their  first 
appearance  in  the  soul.  By  ideas  I  mean  the  faint  images  of 
these  in  thinking  and  reasoning ;  such  as,  for  instance,  are  all 
the  perceptions  excited  by  the  present  discourse,  excepting  only 
those  which  arise  from  the  sight  and  touch,  and  excepting  the 
immediate  pleasure  or  uneasiness  it  may  occasion.  I  believe  it 
will  not  be  very  necessary  to  employ  many  words  in  explaining 
this  distinction.  Every  one  of  himself  will  readily  perceive  the 
difference  betwixt  feeling  and  thinking.  The  common  degrees 
of  these  are  easily  distinguished;  tho'  it  is  not  impossible  but 
in  particular  instances  they  may  very  nearly  approach  to  each 
other.   Thus  in  sleep,  in  a  fever,  in  madness,  or  in  any  very 

*  London,  1739-40;  ib.,  1817;  edit,  with  analytical  index  by  T.  Selby-Bigge, 
Oxford,  1888;  edit,  with  preliminary  dissertations  and  notes  by  T.  H.  Green  and 
T.  H.  Grose,  2  vols.,  Lond.,  1874;  new  ed.  ib.,  1888. 


28o  DAVID  HUME 

violent  emotions  of  soul,  our  ideas  may  approach  to  our  im- 
pressions: As  on  the  other  hand  it  sometimes  happens,  that  our 
impressions  are  so  faint  and  low,  that  we  cannot  distinguish 
them  from  our  ideas.  But  notwithstanding  this  near  resem- 
blance in  a  few  instances,  they  are  in  general  so  very  different, 
that  no-one  can  make  a  scruple  to  rank  them  under  distinct 
heads,  and  assign  to  each  a  pecuUar  name  to  mark  the  differ- 
ence.^ 

There  is  another  division  of  our  perceptions,  which  it  will 
be  convenient  to  observe,  and  which  extends  itself  both  to  our 
impressions  and  ideas.  This  division  is  into  Simple  and  Com- 
plex. Simple  perceptions  or  impressions  and  ideas  are  such  as 
admit  of  no  distinction  or  separation.  The  complex  are  the 
contrary  to  these,  and  may  be  distinguished  into  parts.  Tho' 
a  particular  colour,  taste,  and  smell  are  qualities  all  united 
together  in  this  apple,  't  is  easy  to  perceive  they  are  not  the 
same,  but  are  at  least  distinguishable  from  each  other. 

Having  by  these  divisions  given  an  order  and  arrangement 
to  our  objects,  we  may  now  apply  ourselves  to  consider  with 
the  more  accuracy  their  qualities  and  relations.  The  first  cir- 
cumstance, that  strikes  my  eye,  is  the  great  resemblance 
betwixt  our  impressions  and  ideas  in  every  other  particular, 
except  their  degree  of  force  and  vivacity.  The  one  seem  to  be 
in  a  manner  the  reflexion  of  the  other;  so  that  all  the  percep- 
tions of  the  mind  are  double,  and  appear  both  as  impressions 
and  ideas.  Wh^n  I  shut  my  eyes  and  think  of  my  chamber,  the 
ideas  I  form  are  exact  representations  of  the  impressions  I  felt; 
nor  is  there  any  circumstance  of  the  one,  which  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  other.  In  running  over  my  other  perceptions,  I  find  still 
the  same  resemblance  and  representation.  Ideas  and  impres- 
sions appear  always  to  correspond  to  each  other.  This  circum- 

^  I  here  make  use  of  these  terms,  impression  and  idea,  in  a  sense  different  from 
what  is  usual,  and  I  hope  this  liberty  will  be  allowed  me.  Perhaps  I  rather  restore 
the  word,  idea,  to  its  original  sense,  from  which  Mr.  Locke  had  perverted  it,  in 
making  it  stand  for  all  our  perceptions.  By  the  term  of  impression  I  would  not  be 
understood  to  express  the  manner,  in  which  our  lively  perceptions  are  produced 
in  the  eoul,  but  merely  the  perceptions  themselves;  for  which  there  is  no  particu- 
lar name  either  in  the  English  or  any  other  language,  that  I  know  of. 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     281 

stance  seems  to  me  remarkable,  and  engages  my  attention  for 
a  moment. 

Upon  a  more  accurate  survey  I  find  I  have  been  carried  away 
too  far  by  the  first  appearance,  and  that  I  must  make  use  of  the 
distinction  of  perceptions  into  simple  and  complex,  to  limit  this 
general  decision,  that  all  our  ideas  and  impressions  are  resem- 
bling. I  observe,  that  many  of  our  complex  ideas  never  had 
impressions,  that  corresponded  to  them,  and  that  many  of  our 
complex  impressions  never  are  exactly  copied  in  ideas.  I  can 
imagine  to  myself  such  a  city  as  the  New  Jerusalem,  whose 
pavement  is  gold  and  walls  are  rubies,  tho'  I  never  saw  any 
such.  I  have  seen  Paris;  but  shall  I  affirm  I  can  form  such  an 
idea  of  that  city,  as  will  perfectly  represent  all  its  streets  and 
houses  in  their  real  and  just  proportions? 

I  perceive,  therefore,  that  tho'  there  is  in  general  a  great 
resemblance  betwixt  our  complex  impressions  and  ideas,  yet 
the  rule  is  not  universally  true,  that  they  are  exact  copies  of 
each  other.  We  may  next  consider  how  the  case  stands  with 
our  simple  perceptions.  After  the  most  accurate  examination, 
of  which  I  am  capable,  I  venture  to  affirm,  that  the  rule  here 
holds  without  any  exception,  and  that  every  simple  idea  has  a 
simple  impression,  which  resembles  it;  and  every  simple  impres- 
sion a  correspondent  idea.  That  idea  of  red,  which  we  form  in 
the  dark,  and  that  impression,  which  strikes  our  eyes  in  sun- 
shine, differ  only  in  degree,  not  in  nature.  That  the  case  is  the 
same  with  all  our  simple  impressions  and  ideas,  't  is  impossible 
to  prove  by  a  particular  enumeration  of  them.  Every  one  may 
satisfy  himself  in  this  point  by  running  over  as  many  as  he 
pleases.  But  if  any  one  should  deny  this  universal  resemblance, 
I  know  no  way  of  convincing  him,  but  by  desiring  him  to  shew 
a  simple  impression,  that  has  not  a  correspondent  idea,  or  a 
simple  idea,  that  has  not  a  correspondent  impression.  If  he 
does  not  answer  this  challenge,  as  't  is  certain  he  cannot,  we 
may  from  his  silence  and  our  own  observation  establish  our 
conclusion. 

Thus  we  find,  that  all  simple  ideas  and  impressions  resem- 
ble each  other;  and  as  the  complex  are  formed  from  them,  we 


282  DAVID  HUME 

may  affirm  in  general,  that  these  two  species  of  perception  are 
exactly  correspondent.  Having  discover'd  this  relation,  which 
requires  no  farther  examination,  I  am  curious  to  find  some 
other  of  their  qualities.  Let  us  consider  how  they  stand  with 
regard  to  their  existence,  and  which  of  the  impressions  and 
ideas  are  causes,  and  which  effects. 

The  full  examination  of  this  question  is  the  subject  of  the 
present  treatise;  and  therefore  we  shall  here  content  ourselves 
with  establishing  one  general  proposition.  That  all  our  simple 
ideas  in  their  first  appearance  are  derived  from  simple  impressions  y 
which  are  correspondent  to  them,  and  which  they  exactly  represent. 

In  seeking  for  phaenomena  to  prove  this  proposition,  I  find 
only  those  of  two  kinds;  but  in  each  kind  the  phaenomena  are 
obvious,  numerous,  and  conclusive.  I  first  make  myself  cer- 
tain, by  a  new  review,  of  what  I  have  already  asserted,  that 
every  simple  impression  is  attended  with  a  correspondent  idea, 
and  every  simple  idea  with  a  correspondent  impression.  From 
this  constant  conjunction  of  resembling  perceptions  I  immedi- 
ately conclude,  that  there  is  a  great  connexion  betwixt  our  cor- 
respondent impressions  and  ideas,  and  that  the  existence  of  the 
one  has  a  considerable  influence  upon  that  of  the  other.  Such  a 
constant  conjunction,  in  such  an  infinite  number  of  instances, 
can  never  arise  from  chance ;  but  clearly  proves  a  dependence 
of  the  impressions  on  the  ideas,  or  of  the  ideas  on  the  impres- 
sions. That  I  may  know  on  which  side  this  dependence  lies, 
I  consider  the  order  of  their  first  appearance;  and  find  by  con- 
stant experience,  that  the  simple  impressions  always  take  the 
precedence  of  their  correspondent  ideas,  but  never  appear  in 
the  contrary  order.  To  give  a  child  an  idea  of  scarlet  or  orange, 
of  sweet  or  bitter,  I  present  the  objects,  or  in  other  words,  con- 
vey to  him  these  impressions;  but  proceed  not  so  absurdly,  as 
to  endeavour  to  produce  the  impressions  by  exciting  the  ideas. 
Our  ideas  upon  their  appearance  produce  not  their  correspond- 
ent impressions,  nor  do  we  perceive  any  colour,  or  feel  any  sen- 
sation merely  upon  thinking  of  them.  On  the  other  hand  we  find 
that  any  impression  either  of  the  mind  or  body  is  constantly 
followed  by  an  idea,  which  resembles  it,  and  is  only  different 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     283 

in  the  degrees  of  force  and  liveliness.  The  constant  conjunction 
of  our  resembling  perceptions,  is  a  convincing  proof,  that  the 
one  are  the  causes  of  the  other;  and  this  priority  of  the  impres- 
sions is  an  equal  proof,  that  our  impressions  are  the  causes  of 
our  ideas,  not  our  ideas  of  our  impressions. 

To  confirm  this  I  consider  another  plain  and  convincing 
phaenomenon;  which  is,  that  where-ever  by  any  accident  the 
faculties,  which  give  rise  to  any  impressions,  are  obstructed 
in  their  operations,  as  when  one  is  born  blind  or  deaf;  not  only 
the  impressions  are  lost,  but  also  their  correspondent  ideas; 
so  that  there  never  appear  in  the  mind  the  least  traces  of  either 
of  them.  Nor  is  this  only  true,  where  the  organs  of  sensation  are 
entirely  destroy'd,  but  likewise  where  they  have  never  been  put 
in  action  to  produce  a  particular  impression.  We  cannot  form 
to  ourselves  a  just  idea  of  the  taste  of  a  pine-apple,  without 
having  actually  tasted  it. 

There  is  however  one  contradictory  phaenomenon,  which 
may  prove,  that  't  is  not  absolutely  impossible  for  ideas  to  go 
before  their  correspondent  impressions.  I  believe  it  will  readily 
be  allow 'd,  that  the  several  distinct  ideas  of  colours,  which 
enter  by  the  eyes,  or  those  of  sounds,  which  are  convey'd  by 
the  hearing,  are  really  different  from  each  other,  tho'  at  the 
same  time  resembling.  Now  if  this  be  true  of  different  colours, 
it  must  be  no  less  so  of  the  different  shades  of  the  same  colour, 
that  each  of  them  produces  a  distinct  idea,  independent  of  the 
rest.  For  if  this  shou'd  be  deny'd,  't  is  possible,  by  the  con- 
tinual gradation  of  shades,  to  run  a  colour  insensibly  into  what 
is  most  remote  from  it;  and  if  you  will  not  allow  any  of  the 
means  to  be  different,  you  cannot  without  absurdity  deny  the 
extremes  to  be  the  same.  Suppose  therefore  a  person  to  have 
enjoyed  his  sight  for  thirty  years,  and  to  have  become  per- 
fectly well  acquainted  with  colours  of  all  kinds,  excepting  one 
particular  shade  of  blue,  for  instance,  which  it  never  has  been 
his  fortune  to  meet  with.  Let  all  the  different  shades  of  that 
colour,  except  that  single  one,  be  plac'd  before  him,  descending 
gradually  from  the  deepest  to  the  lightest;  't  is  plain,  that  he 
will  perceive  a  blank,  where  that  shade  is  wanting,  and  will  be 


284  DAVID  HUME 

sensible,  that  there  is  a  greater  distance  in  that  place  betwixt 
the  contiguous  colours,  than  in  any  other.  Now  I  ask,  whether 
't  is  possible  for  him,  from  his  own  imagination,  to  supply  this 
deficiency,  and  raise  up  to  himself  the  idea  of  that  particular 
shade,  tho'  it  had  never  been  conveyed  to  him  by  his  senses? 
I  believe  there  are  few  but  will  be  of  opinion  that  he  can ;  and 
this  may  serve  as  a  proof,  that  the  simple  ideas  are  not  always 
derived  from  the  correspondent  impressions;  tho'  the  instance 
is  so  particular  and  singular,  that 't  is  scarce  worth  our  observ- 
ing, and  does  not  merit  that  for  it  alone  we  should  alter  our 
general  maxim. 

But  besides  this  exception,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  remark 
on  this  head,  that  the  principle  of  the  priority  of  impressions 
to  ideas  must  be  understood  with  another  limitation,  viz.  that 
as  our  ideas  are  images  of  our  impressions,  so  we  can  form 
secondary  ideas,  which  are  images  of  the  primary;  as  appears 
from  this  very  reasoning  concerning  them.  This  is  not,  pro- 
perly speaking,  an  exception  to  the  rule  so  much  as  an  explana- 
tion of  it.  Ideas  produce  the  images  of  themselves  in  new  ideas; 
but  as  the  first  ideas  are  supposed  to  be  derived  from  impres- 
sions, it  still  remains  true,  that  all  our  simple  ideas  proceed 
either  mediately  or  immediately  from  their  correspondent 
impressions. 

This  then  is  the  first  principle  I  establish  in  the  science  of 
human  nature;  nor  ought  we  to  despise  it  because  of  the  sim- 
plicity of  its  appearance.  For  *t  is  remarkable,  that  the  present 
question  concerning  the  precedency  of  our  impressions  or  ideas, 
is  the  same  with  what  has  made  so  much  noise  in  other  terms, 
when  it  has  been  disputed  whether  there  be  any  innate  ideas, 
or  whether  all  ideas  be  derived  from  sensation  and  reflexion. 
We  may  observe,  that  in  order  to  prove  the  ideas  of  extension 
and  colour  not  to  be  innate,  philosophers  do  nothing  but 
shew,  that  they  are  conveyed  by  our  senses.  To  prove  the 
ideas  of  passion  and  desire  not  to  be  innate,  they  observe  that 
we  have  a  preceding  experience  of  these  emotions  in  ourselves. 
Now  if  we  carefully  examine  these  arguments,  we  shall  find  that 
they  prove  nothing  but  that  ideas  are  preceded  by  other  more 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     285 

lively  perceptions,  from  which  they  are  derived,  and  which  they 
represent.  I  hope  this  clear  stating  of  the  question  will  remove 
all  disputes  concerning  it,  and  will  rehder  this  principle  of  more 
use  in  our  reasonings,  than  it  seems  hitherto  to  have  been. 


Section  II.   Division  of  the  Subject 

Since  it  appears,  that  our  simple  impressions  are  prior  to 
their  correspondent  ideas,  and  that  the  exceptions  are  very 
rare,  method  seems  to  require  we  should  examine  our  impres- 
sions, before  we  consider  our  ideas.  Impressions  may  be  di- 
vided into  two  kinds,  those  of  Sensation  and  those  of  Reflex- 
ion. The  first  kind  arises  in  the  soul  originally,  from  unknown 
causes.  The  second  is  derived  in  a  great  measure  from  our 
ideas,  and  that  in  the  following  order.  An  impression  first 
strikes  upon  the  senses,  and  makes  us  perceive  heat  or  cold, 
thirst  or  hunger,  pleasure  or  pain  of  some  kind  or  other.  Of 
this  impression  there  is  a  copy  taken  by  the  mind,  which  re- 
mains after  the  impression  ceases;  and  this  we  call  an  idea. 
This  idea  of  pleasure  or  pain,  when  it  returns  upon  the  soul, 
produces  the  new  impressions  of  desire  and  aversion,  hope  and 
fear,  which  may  properly  be  called  impressions  of  reflection, 
because  derived  from  it.  These  again  are  copied  by  the  memory 
and  imagination,  and  become  ideas;  which  perhaps  in  their  turn 
give  rise  to  other  impressions  and  ideas.  So  that  the  impres- 
sions of  reflection  are  only  antecedent  to  their  correspondent 
ideas;  but  posterior  to  those  of  sensation,  and  deriv'd  from 
them.  The  examination  of  our  sensations  belongs  more  to 
anatomists  and  natural  philosophers  than  to  moral ;  and  there- 
fore shall  not  at  present  be  enter'd  upon.  And  as  the  impres- 
sions of  reflection,  viz.  passions,  desires,  and  emotions,  which 
principally  deserve  our  attention,  arise  mostly  from  ideas,  't  will 
be  necessary  to  reverse  that  method,  which  at  first  sight  seems 
most  natural;  and  in  order  to  explain  the  nature  and  principles 
of  the  human  mind,  give  a  particular  account  of  ideas,  before 
we  proceed  to  impressions.  For  this  reason  I  have  here  chosen 
to  begin  with  ideas. 


286  DAVID  HUME 

Section  III.  Of  the  Ideas  of  the  Memory  and  Imagina- 
tion 

We  find  by  experience,  that  when  any  impression  has  been 
present  with  the  mind,  it  again  makes  its  appearance  there  as 
an  idea  J  and  this  it  may  do  after  two  different  ways;  either 
when  in  its  new  appearance  it  retains  a  considerable  degree 
of  its  first  vivacity,  and  is  somewhat  intermediate  betwixt  an 
impression  and  an  idea;  or  when  it  entirely  loses  that  vivacity, 
and  is  a  perfect  idea.  The  faculty,  by  which  we  repeat  our 
impressions  in  the  first  manner,  is  called  the  Memory,  and  the 
other  the  Imagination.  'T  is  evident  at  first  sight,  that  the 
ideas  of  the  memory  are  much  more  lively  and  strong  than 
those  of  the  imagination,  and  that  the  former  faculty  paints  its 
objects  in  more  distinct  colours,  than  any  which  are  employ 'd 
by  the  latter.  When  we  remember  any  past  event,  the  idea 
of  it  flows  in  upon  the  mind  in  a  forcible  manner;  whereas  in 
the  imagination  the  perception  is  faint  and  languid,  and  cannot 
without  difficulty  be  preserv'd  by  the  mind  steady  and  uni- 
form for  any  considerable  time.  Here  then  is  a  sensible  differ- 
ence betwixt  one  species  of  ideas  and  another.  But  of  this  more 
fully  hereafter.^ 

There  is  another  difference  betwixt  these  two  kinds  of  ideas, 
which  is  no  less  evident,  namely  that  tho'  neither  the  ideas  of 
the  memory  nor  imagination,  neither  the  lively  nor  faint  ideas 
can  make  their  appearance  in  the  mind,  unless  their  corre- 
spondent impressions  have  gone  before  to  prepare  the  way  for 
them,  yet  the  imagination  is  not  restrain'd  to  the  same  order 
and  form  with  the  original  impressions;  while  the  memory  is  in 
a  manner  ty'd  down  in  that  respect,  without  any  power  of 
variation. 

'T  is  evident,  that  the  memory  preserves  the  original  form, 
in  which  its  objects  were  presented,  and  that  where-ever  we 
depart  from  it  in  recollecting  any  thing,  it  proceeds  from  some 
defect  or  imperfection  in  that  faculty.  An  historian  may,  per- 
haps, for  the  more  convenient  carrying  on  of  his  narration, 
»  Part  III.  sect.  5. 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     287 

relate  an  event  before  another,  to  which  it  was  in  fact  posterior; 
but  then  he  takes  notice  of  this  disorder,  if  he  be  exact;  and  by 
that  means  replaces  the  idea  in  its  due  position.  'T  is  the  same 
case  in  our  recollection  of  those  places  and  persons,  with  which 
we  were  formerly  acquainted.  The  chief  exercise  of  the  memory 
is  not  to  preserve  the  simple  ideas,  but  their  order  and  posi- 
tion. In  short,  this  principle  is  supported  by  such  a  number  of 
common  and  vulgar  phaenomena,  that  we  may  spare  ourselves 
the  trouble  of  insisting  on  it  any  farther. 

The  same  evidence  follows  us  in  our  Second  principle,  of  the 
liberty  of  the  imagination  to  transpose  and  change  its  ideas.  The 
fables  we  meet  with  in  poems  and  romances  put  this  entirely 
out  of  question.  Nature  there  is  totally  confounded,  and  no- 
thing mentioned  but  winged  horses,  fiery  dragons,  and  mon- 
strous giants.  Nor  will  this  Uberty  of  the  fancy  appear  strange, 
when  we  consider,  that  all  our  ideas  are  copy'd  from  our  impres- 
sions, and  that  there  are  not  any  two  impressions  which  are 
perfectly  inseparable.  Not  to  mention,  that  this  is  an  evident 
consequence  of  the  division  of  ideas  into  simple  and  complex. 
Where-ever  the  imagination  perceives  a  difference  among  ideas, 
it  can  easily  produce  a  separation. 

Section  IV.   Of  the  Connexion  or  Association  of  Ideas 

As  all  simple  ideas  may  be  separated  by  the  imagination, 
and  may  be  united  again  in  what  form  it  pleases,  nothing  wou'd 
be  more  unaccountable  than  the  operations  of  that  faculty, 
were  it  not  guided  by  some  universal  principles,  which  render 
it,  in  some  measure,  uniform  with  itself  in  all  times  and  places. 
Were  ideas  entirely  loose  and  unconnected,  chance  alone  wou'd 
join  them ;  and  't  is  impossible  the  same  simple  ideas  should 
fall  regularly  into  complex  ones  (as  they  commonly  do)  with- 
out some  bond  of  union  among  them,  some  associating  quality, 
by  which  one  idea  naturally  introduces  another.  This  uniting 
principle  among  ideas  is  not  to  be  consider 'd  as  an  inseparable 
connexion;  for  that  has  been  already"^ excluded  from  the  imag- 
ination: Nor  yet  are  we  to  conclude,  that  without  it  the  mind 


288  DAVID  HUME 

cannot  join  two  ideas;  for  nothing  is  more  free  than  that 
faculty:  but  we  are  only  to  regard  it  as  a  gentle  force,  which 
commonly  prevails,  and  is  the  cause  why,  among  other  things, 
languages  so  nearly  correspond  to  each  other;  nature  in  a  man- 
ner pointing  out  to  every  one  those  simple  ideas,  which  are 
most  proper  to  be  united  into  a  complex  one.  The  qualities, 
from  which  this  association  arises,  and  by  which  the  mind  is 
after  this  manner  convey'd  from  one  idea  to  another,  are  three, 
viz.  Resemblance,  Contiguity  in  time  or  place,  and  Cause 
and  Effect.  * 

I  believe  it  will  not  be  very  necessary  to  prove,  that  these 
quaUties  produce  an  association  among  ideas,  and  upon  the 
appearance  of  one  idea  naturally  introduce  another.  'Tis 
plain,  that  in  the  course  of  our  thinking,  and  in  the  constant 
revolution  of  our  ideas,  our  imagination  runs  easily  from  one 
idea  to  any  other  that  resembles  it,  and  that  this  quality  alone 
is  to  the  fancy  a  sufficient  bond  and  association.  'T  is  like- 
wise evident,  that  as  the  senses,  in  changing  their  objects,  are 
necessitated  to  change  them  regularly,  and  take  them  as  they 
lie  contiguous  to  each  other,  the  imagination  must  by  long  cus- 
tom acquire  the  same  method  of  thinking,  and  run  along  the 
parts  of  space  and  time  in  conceiving  its  objects.  As  to  the  con- 
nexion, that  is  made  by  the  relation  of  cause  and  efect,  we  shall 
have  occasion  afterwards  to  examine  it  to  the  bottom,  and 
therefore  shall  not  at  present  insist  upon  it.  'Tis  sufficient 
to  observe,  that  there  is  no  relation,  which  produces  a  stronger 
connexion  in  the  fancy,  and  makes  one  idea  more  readily  recall 
another,  than  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect  betwixt  their 
objects. 

That  we  may  understand  the  full  extent  of  these  relations, 
we  must  consider,  that  two  objects  are  connected  together  in 
the  imagination,  not  only  when  the  one  is  immediately  re- 
sembling, contiguous  to,  or  the  cause  of  the  other,  but  also 
when  there  is  interposed  betwixt  them  a  third  object,  which 
bears  to  both  of  them  any  of  these  relations.  This  may  be 
carried  on  to  a  great  length;  tho'  at  the  same  time  we  may 
observe,  that  each  remove  considerably  weakens  the  relation. 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     289 

Cousins  in  the  fourth  degree  are  connected  by  causation,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  use  that  term ;  but  not  so  closely  as  brothers, 
much  less  as  child  and  parent.  In  general  we  may  observe,  that 
all  the  relations  of  blood  depend  upon  cause  and  effect,  and  are 
esteemed  near  or  remote,  according  to  the  number  of  connect- 
ing causes  interpos'd  betwixt  the  persons. 

Of  the  three  relations  above-mention'd  this  of  causation  is 
the  most  extensive.  Two  objects  may  be  consider'd  as  plac'd 
in  this  relation,  as  well  when  one  is  the  cause  of  any  of  the 
actions  or  motions  of  the  other,  as  when  the  former  is  the 
cause  of  the  existence  of  the  latter.  For  as  that  action  or 
motion  is  nothing  but  the  object  itself,  consider'd  in  a  certain 
light,  and  as  the  object  continues  the  same  in  all  its  different 
situations,  't  is  easy  to  imagine  how  such  an  influence  of  objects 
upon  one  another  may  connect  them  in  the  imagination. 

We  may  carry  this  farther,  and  remark,  not  only  that  two 
objects  are  connected  by  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  when 
the  one  produces  a  motion  or  any  action  in  the  other,  but  also 
when  it  has  a  power  of  producing  it.  And  this  we  may  observe 
to  be  the  source  of  all  the  relations  of  interest  and  duty,  by 
which  men  influence  each  other  in  society,  and  are  plac'd  in  the 
ties  of  government  and  subordination.  A  master  is  such-a-one 
as  by  his  situation,  arising  either  from  force  or  agreement,  has 
a  power  of  directing  in  certain  particulars  the  actions  of  another, 
whom  we  call  servant.  A  judge  is  one,  who  in  all  disputed  cases 
can  fix  by  his  opinion  the  possession  or  property  of  any  thing 
betwixt  any  members  of  the  society.  When  a  person  is  pos- 
sess'd  of  any  power,  there  is  no  more  required  to  convert  it  into 
action,  but  the  exertion  of  the  will;  and  that  in  every  case  is 
consider'd  as  possible,  and  in  many  as  probable;  especially  in 
the  case  of  authority,  where  the  obedience  of  the  subject  is  a 
pleasure  and  advantage  to  the  superior. 

These  are  therefore  the  principles  of  union  or  cohesion 
among  our  simple  ideas,  and  in  the  imagination  supply  the 
place  of  that  inseparable  connexion,  by  which  they  are  united 
in  our  memory.  Here  is  a  kind  of  Attraction,  which  in  the 
mental  world  will  be  found  to  have  as  extraordinary  effects  as 


290  DAVID  HUME 

in  the  natural,  and  to  shew  itself  in  as  many  and  as  various 
forms.  Its  efifects  are  every  where  conspicuous;  but  as  to  its 
causes,  they  are  mostly  unknown,  and  must  be  resolv'd  into 
original  qualities  of  human  nature,  which  I  pretend  not  to 
explain.  Nothing  is  more  requisite  for  a  true  philosopher,  than 
to  restrain  the  intemperate  desire  of  searching  into  causes,  and 
having  establish'd  any  doctrine  upon  a  sufficient  number  of 
experiments,  rest  contented  with  that,  when  he  sees  a  farther 
examination  would  lead  him  into  obscure  and  uncertain  specu- 
lations. In  that  case  his  enquiry  wou'd  be  much  better 
employ'd  in  examining  the  effects  than  the  causes  of  his 
principle. 

Amongst  the  effects  of  this  union  or  association  of  ideas, 
there  are  none  more  remarkable,  than  those  complex  ideas, 
which  are  the  common  subjects  of  our  thoughts  and  reasoning, 
and  generally  arise  from  some  principle  of  union  among  our 
simple  ideas.  These  complex  ideas  may  be  divided  into 
Relations,  Modes,  and  Substances.  We  shall  briefly  examine 
each  of  these  in  order,  and  shall  subjoin  some  considerations 
concerning  our  general  and  particular  ideas,  before  we  leave  the 
present  subject,  which  may  be  consider'd  as  the  elements  of  this 
philosophy. 

Section  V.   Of  Relations 

The  word  Relation  is  commonly  used  in  two  senses  con- 
siderably different  from  each  other.  Either  for  that  quality,  by 
which  two  ideas  are  connected  together  in  the  imagination, 
and  the  one  naturally  introduces  the  other,  after  the  manner 
above-explained;  or  for  that  particular  circumstance,  in  which, 
even  upon  the  arbitrary  union  of  two  ideas  in  the  fancy,  we 
may  think  proper  to  compare  them.  In  common  language  the 
former  is  always  the  sense,  in  which  we  use  the  word,  relation; 
and  't  is  only  in  philosophy,  that  we  extend  it  to  mean  any  par- 
ticular subject  of  comparison,  without  a  connecting  principle. 
Thus  distance  will  be  allowed  by  philosophers  to  be  a  true  re- 
lation, because  we  acquire  an  idea  of  it  by  the  comparing  of 
objects:  But  in  a  common  way  we  say,  that  nothing  can  be 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     291 

more  distant  than  suck  or  suck  tkingsfrom  each  otker,  notking  can 
have  less  relation;  as  if  distance  and  relation  were  incompatible. 
It  may  perhaps  be  esteemed  an  endless  task  to  enumerate 
all  those  qualities,  which  make  objects  admit  of  comparison, 
and  by  which  the  ideas  of  pkilosopkical  relation  are  produced. 
But  if  we  diligently  consider  them,  we  shall  find  that  without 
diflficulty  they  may  be  compriz'd  under  seven  general  heads, 
which  may  be  considered  as  the  source  of  all  philosophical 
relation. 

1.  The  first  is  resemblance:  And  this  is  a  relation,  without 
which  no  philosophical  relation  can  exist;  since  no  objects 
will  admit  of  comparison,  but  what  have  some  degree  of  resem- 
blance. But  tho'  resemblance  be  necessary  to  all  philosophical 
relation,  it  does  not  follow,  that  it  always  produces  a  connexion 
or  association  of  ideas.  When  a  quality  becomes  very  general, 
and  is  common  to  a  great  many  individuals,  it  leads  not  the 
mind  directly  to  any  one  of  them ;  but  by  presenting  at  once  too 
great  a  choice,  does  thereby  prevent  the  imagination  from  fix- 
ing on  any  single  object. 

2.  Identity  may  be  esteem 'd  a  second  species  of  relation. 
This  relation  I  here  consider  as  apply'd  in  its  strictest  sense 
to  constant  and  unchangeable  objects;  without  examining  the 
nature  and  foundation  of  personal  identity,  which  shall  find 
its  place  afterwards.  Of  all  relations  the  most  universal  is  that 
of  identity,  being  common  to  every  being,  whose  existence  has 
any  duration. 

3.  After  identity  the  most  universal  and  comprehensive  rela- 
tions are  those  of  Space  and  Time,  which  are  the  sources  of  an 
infinite  number  of  comparisons,  such  as  distant,  contiguous, 
above,  below,  before,  after,  &c. 

4.  All  those  objects,  which  admit  of  quantity,  or  number,  may 
be  compar'd  in  that  particular;  which  is  another  very  fertile 
source  of  relation. 

5.  When  any  two  objects  possess  the  same  quality  in  com- 
mon, the  degrees,  in  which  they  possess  it,  form  a  fifth  species 
of  relation.  Thus  of  two  objects,  which  are  both  heavy,  the 
one  may  be  either  of  greater,  or  less  weight  than  with  the 


292  DAVID  HUME 

other.  Two  colours,  that  are  of  the  same  kind,  may  yet  be  of 
different  shades,  and  in  that  respect  admit  of  comparison. 

6.  The  relation  of  contrariety  may  at  first  sight  be  regarded 
as  an  exception  to  the  rule,  that  no  relation  of  any  kind  can 
subsist  without  some  degree  of  resemblance.  But  let  us  consider, 
that  no  two  ideas  are  in  themselves  contrary,  except  those  of 
existence  and  non-existence,  which  are  plainly  resembling,  as 
implying  both  of  them  an  idea  of  the  object;  tho'  the  latter 
excludes  the  object  from  all  times  and  places,  in  which  it  is  sup- 
posed not  to  exist. 

7.  All  other  objects,  such  as  fire  and  water,  heat  and  cold, 
are  only  found  to  be  contrary  from  experience,  and  from  the 
contrariety  of  their  causes  or  effects;  which  relation  of  cause 
and  effect  is  a  seventh  philosophical  relation,  as  well  as  a 
natural  one.  The  resemblance  implied  in  this  relation,  shall  be 
explain'd  afterwards. 

It  might  naturally  be  expected,  that  I  should  join  difference 
to  the  other  relations.  But  that  I  consider  rather  as  a  nega- 
tion of  relation,  than  as  any  thing  real  or  positive.  Difference 
is  of  two  kinds  as  oppos'd  either  to  identity  or  resemblance. 
The  first  is  called  a  difference  of  number;  the  other  of  kind. 

Section  VI.    Of  Modes  and  Substances 

I  wou'd  fain  ask  those  philosophers,  who  found  so  much 
of  their  reasonings  on  the  distinction  of  substance  and  acci- 
dent, and  imagine  we  have  clear  ideas  of  each,  whether  the 
idea  of  substance  be  deriv'd  from  the  impressions  of  sensation 
or  reflection?  If  it  be  convey'd  to  us  by  our  senses,  I  ask, 
which  of  them ;  and  after  what  manner?  If  it  be  perceiv'd  by 
the  eyes,  it  must  be  a  colour;  if  by  the  ears,  a  sound;  if  by  the 
palate,  a  taste;  and  so  of  the  other  senses.  But  I  believe  none 
will  assert,  that  substance  is  either  a  colour,  or  sound,  or  a 
taste.  The  idea  of  substance  must  therefore  be  deriv'd  from  an 
impression  or  reflection,  if  it  really  exist.  But  the  impressions 
of  reflection  resolve  themselves  into  our  passions  and  emotions; 
none  of  which  can  possibly  represent  a  substance.   We  have 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     293 

therefore  no  idea  of  substance,  distinct  from  that  of  a  collection 
of  particular  qualities,  nor  have  we  any  other  meaning  when  we 
either  talk  or  reason  concerning  it.^ 

The  idea  of  a  substance  as  well  as  that  of  a  mode,  is  nothing 
but  a  collection  of  simple  ideas,  that  are  united  by  the  imagina- 
tion, and  have  a  particular  name  assigned  them,  by  which  we 
are  able  to  recall,  either  to  ourselves  or  others,  that  collection. 
But  the  difference  betwixt  these  ideas  consists  in  this,  that  the 
particular  qualities,  which  form  a  substance,  are  coramonly 
refer'd  to  an  unknown  something,  in  which  they  are  supposed 
to  inhere ;  or  granting  this  fiction  should  not  take  place,  are  at 
least  supposed  to  be  closely  and  inseparably  connected  by  the 
relations  of  contiguity  and  causation.  The  effect  of  this  is,  that 
whatever  new  simple  quality  we  discover  to  have  the  same  con- 
nexion with  the  rest,  we  immediately  comprehend  it  among 
them,  even  tho'  it  did  not  enter  into  the  first  conception  of  the 
substance.  Thus  our  idea  of  gold  may  at  first  be  a  yellow 
colour,  weight,  malleableness,  fusibility;  but  upon  the  discov- 
ery of  its  dissolubility  in  aqua  regia,  we  join  that  to  the  other 
qualities,  and  suppose  it  to  belong  to  the  substance  as  much  as 
if  its  idea  had  from  the  beginning  made  a  part  of  the  compound 
one.  The  principle  of  union  being  regarded  as  the  chief  part  of 
the  complex  idea,  gives  entrance  to  whatever  quality  after- 
wards occurs,  and  is  equally  comprehended  by  it,  as  are  the 
others,  which  first  presented  themselves.^ 

That  this  cannot  take  place  in  modes,  is  evident  from  con- 
sidering their  nature.  The  simple  ideas  of  which  modes  are 
formed,  either  represent  qualities,  which  are  not  united  by 
contiguity  and  causation,  but  are  dispers'd  in  different  sub- 
jects; or  if  they  be  all  united  together,  the  uniting  principle 
is  not  regarded  as  the  foundation  of  the  complex  idea.  The 
.idea  of  a  dance  is  an  instance  of  the  first  kind  of  modes;  that 
of  beauty  of  the  second.  The  reason  is  obvious,  why  such  com- 
plex ideas  cannot  receive  any  new  idea,  without  changing  the 
name,  which  distinguishes  the  mode. 

*  Cf.  Green  and  Grose's  Introduction,  §208. 
2  Ibid.  §214. 


294  DAVID  HUME 

PART  III.    OF   KNOWLEDGE   AND   PROBABILITY 
Section  I.   Of  Knowledge 

There  are  ^  seven  different  kinds  of  philosophical  relation, 
viz.  resemblance,  identity,  relations  of  time  and  place,  propor- 
tion in  quantity  or  number,  degrees  in  any  quality,  contrariety,  and 
causation.  These  relations  may  be  divided  into  two  classes; 
into  such  as  depend  entirely  on  the  ideas,  which  we  compare 
together,  and  such  as  may  be  chang'd  without  any  change  in 
the  ideas.  'T  is  from  the  idea  of  a  triangle,  that  we  discover 
the  relation  of  equality,  which  its  three  angles  bear  to  two  right 
ones;  and  this  relation  is  invariable,  as  long  as  our  idea  remains 
the  same.  On  the  contrary,  the  relations  of  contiguity  and 
distance  betwixt  two  objects  may  be  chang'd  merely  by  an 
alteration  of  their  place,  without  any  change  on  the  objects 
themselves  or  on  their  ideas;  and  the  place  depends  on  a  hun- 
dred different  accidents,  which  cannot  be  foreseen  by  the  mind. 
'T  is  the  same  case  with  identity  and  causation.  Two  objects, 
tho'  perfectly  resembling  each  other,  and  even  appearing  in  the 
safhe  place  at  different  times,  may  be  numerically  different; 
And  as  the  power,  by  which  one  object  produces  another,  is 
never  discoverable  merely  from  their  idea,  't  is  evident  cause 
and  effect  are  relations,  of  which  we  receive  information  from 
experience,  and  not  from  any  abstract  reasoning  or  reflection. 
There  is  no  single  pha3nomenon,  even  the  most  simple,  which 
can  be  accounted  for  from  the  qualities  of  the  objects,  as  they 
appear  to  us;  or  which  we  cou'd  foresee  without  the  help  of  our 
memory  and  experience. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  of  these  seven  philosophical  rela- 
tions, there  remain  only  four,  which  depending  solely  upon 
ideas,  can  be  the  objects  of  knowledge  and  certainty.  These 
four  are  resemblance,  contrariety,  degrees  in  quality,  and  propor- 
tions in  quantity  or  number.  Three  of  these  relations  are  dis- 
coverable at  first  sight,  and  fall  more  properly  under  the  pro- 
vince of  intuition  than  demonstration.    When  any  objects 

*  Part  I.  sect.  5. 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     295 

resemble  each  other,  the  resemblance  will  at  j&rst  strike  the  eye, 
or  rather  the  mind ;  and  seldom  requires  a  second  examination. 
The  case  is  the  same  with  contrariety,  and  with  the  degrees  of 
any  quality.  No  one  can  once  doubt  but  existence  and  non- 
existence destroy  each  other,  and  are  perfectly  incompatible 
and  contrary.  And  tho'  it  be  impossible  to  judge  exactly  of  the 
degrees  of  any  quality,  such  as  colour,  taste,  heat,  cold,  when 
the  difference  betwixt  them  is  very  small;  yet  'tis  easy  to 
decide,  that  any  of  them  is  superior  or  inferior  to  another,  when 
the  difference  is  considerable.  And  this  decision  we  always 
pronounce  at  first  sight,  without  any  enquiry  or  reasoning. 

We  might  proceed,  after  the  same  manner,  in  fixing  the  pro- 
portions of  quantity  or  number,  and  might  at  one  view  observe 
a  superiority  or  inferiority  betwixt  any  numbers,  or  figures; 
especially  where  the  difference  is  very  great  and  remarkable. 
As  to  equality  or  any  exact  proportion,  we  can  only  guess  at  it 
from  a  single  consideration;  except  in  very  short  numbers,  or 
very  limited  portions  of  extension;  which  are  comprehended  in 
an  instant,  and  where  we  perceive  an  impossibility  of  falling 
into  any  considerable  error.  In  all  other  cases  we  must  settle 
the  proportions  with  some  liberty,  or  proceed  in  a  more 
artificial  manner. 

I  have  already  observ'd,  that  geometry,  or  the  art,  by  which 
we  fix  the  proportions  of  figures,  tho'  it  much  excels,  both  in 
universality  and  exactness,  the  loose  judgments  of  the  senses 
and  imagination,  yet  never  attains  a  perfect  precision  and 
exactness.  Its  first  principles  are  still  drawn  from  the  general 
appearance  of  the  objects ;  and  that  appearance  can  never  afford 
us  any  security,  when  we  examine  the  prodigious  minuteness  of 
which  n£,ture  is  susceptible.  Our  ideas  seem  to  give  a  perfect 
assurance,  that  no  two  right  lines  can  have  a  common  segment; 
but  if  we  consider  these  ideas,  we  shall  find,  that  they  always 
suppose  a  sensible  inclination  of  the  two  lines,  and  that  where 
the  angle  fhey  form  is  extremely  small,  we  have  no  standard 
of  a  right  line  so  precise  as  to  assure  us  of  the  truth  of  this 
proposition.  'T  is  the  same  case  with  most  of  the  primary  de- 
cisions of  the  mathematics. 


296  DAVID  HUME 

There  remain,  therefore,  algebra  and  arithmetic  as  the  only 
sciences,  in  which  we  can  carry  on  a  chain  of  reasoning  to  any 
degree  of  intricacy,  and  yet  preserve  a  perfect  exactness  and 
certainty.  We  are  possest  of  a  precise  standard,  by  which  we 
can  judge  of  the  equality  and  proportion  of  numbers;  and  ac- 
cording as  they  correspond  or  not  to  that  standard,  we  deter- 
mine their  relations,  v/ithout  any  possibility  of  error.  When  two 
numbers  are  so  combin'd,  as  that  the  one  has  always  an  unite 
answering  to  every  unite  of  the  other,  we  pronounce  them  equal; 
and  't  is  for  want  of  such  a  standard  of  equality  in  extension, 
that  geometry  can  scarce  be  esteem'd  a  perfect  and  infallible 
science. 

But  here  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  obviate  a  difficulty,  which 
may  arise  from  my  asserting,  that  tho'  geometry  falls  short  of 
that  perfect  precision  and  certainty,  which  are  peculiar  to 
arithmetic  and  algebra,  yet  it  excels  the  imperfect  judgments 
of  our  senses  and  imagination.  The  reason  why  I  impute 
any  defect  to  geometry,  is,  because  its  original  and  funda- 
mental principles  are  deriv'd  merely  from  appearances;  and 
it  may  perhaps  be  imagin'd,  that  this  defect  must  always  attend 
it,  and  keep  it  from  ever  reaching  a  greater  exactness  in  the 
comparison  of  objects  or  ideas,  than  what  our  eye  or  imagina- 
tion alone  is  able  to  attain.  I  own  that  this  defect  so  far  at- 
tends it,  as  to  keep  it  from  ever  aspiring  to  a  full  certainty:  But 
since  these  fundamental  principles  depend  on  the  easiest  and 
least  deceitful  appearances,  they  bestow  on  their  consequences 
a  degree  of  exactness,  of  which  these  consequences  are  singly 
incapable.  'T  is  impossible  for  the  eye  to  determine  the  angles 
of  a  chiliagon  to  be  equal  to  1996  right  angles,  or  make  any 
conjecture,  that  approaches  this  proportion;  but  when  it  deter- 
mines, that  right  lines  cannot  concur;  that  we  cannot  draw 
more  than  one  right  line  between  two  given  points;  its  mistakes 
can  never  be  of  any  consequence.  And  this  is  the  nature  and 
use  of  geometry,  to  run  us  up  to  such  appearances,  as,  by  rea- 
son of  their  simplicity,  cannot  lead  us  into  any  considerable 
error. 

I  shall  here  take  occasion  to  propose  a  second  observation 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     297 

concerning  our  demonstrative  reasonings,  which  is  suggested 
by  the  same  subject  of  the  mathematics.  'T  is  usual  with 
mathematicians,  to  pretend,  that  those  ideas,  which  are  their 
objects,  are  of  so  refin'd  and  spiritual  a  nature,  that  they  fall 
not  under  the  conception  of  the  fancy,  but  must  be  compre- 
hended by  a  pure  and  intellectual  view,  of  which  the  superior 
faculties  of  the  soul  are  alone  capable.  The  same  notion  runs 
thro*  most  parts  of  philosophy,  and  is  principally  made  use  of 
to  explain  our  abstract  ideas,  and  to  shew  how  we  can  form  an 
idea  of  a  triangle,  for  instance,  which  shall  neither  be  an  isoceles 
nor  scalenum,  nor  be  confin'd  to  any  particular  length  and  pro- 
portion of  sides.  'T  is  easy  to  see,  why  philosophers  are  so  fond 
of  this  notion  of  some  spiritual  and  refin'd  perceptions;  since  by 
that  means  they  cover  many  of  their  absurdities,  and  may 
refuse  to  submit  to  the  decisions  of  clear  ideas,  by  appealing 
to  such  as  are  obscure  and  uncertain.  But  to  destroy  this  arti- 
fice, we  need  but  reflect  on  that  principle  so  oft  insisted  on,  that 
all  our  ideas  are  copy'd  from  our  impressions.  For  from  thence 
we  may  immtcdiately  conclude,  that  since  all  impressions  are 
clear  and  precise,  the  ideas,  which  are  copy'd  from  them,  must 
be  of  the  same  nature,  and  can  never,  but  from  our  fault,  con- 
tain any  thing  so  dark  and  intricate.  An  idea  is  by  its  very 
nature  weaker  and  fainter  than  an  impression;  but  being  in 
every  other  respect  the  same,  cannot  imply  any  very  great 
mystery.  If  its  weakness  render  it  obscure,  't  is  our  business 
to  remedy  that  defect,  as  much  as  possible,  by  keeping  the 
idea  steady  and  precise ;  and  till  we  have  done  so,  't  is  in  vain 
to  pretend  to  reasoning  and  philosophy. 

Section  II.   Of  Probability;  and  of  the  Idea  of  Cause 
AND   Effect 

This  is  all  I  think  necessary  to  observe  concerning  those 
four  relations,  which  are  the  foundation  of  science;  but  as  to 
the  other  three,  which  depend  not  upon  the  idea,  and  may  be 
absent  or  present  even  while  that  remains  the  same,  't  will  be 
proper  to  explain  them  more  particularly.    These  three  rela- 


298  DAVID  HUME 

tions  are  identity,  the  situations  in  time  and  place,  and  causa- 
tion. 

All  kinds  of  reasoning  consist  in  nothing  but  a  comparisofi, 
and  a  discovery  of  those  relations,  either  constant  or  incon- 
stant, which  two  or  more  objects  bear  to  each  other.  This 
comparison  we  may  make,  either  when  both  the  objects  are 
present  to  the  senses,  or  when  neither  of  them  is  present,  or 
when  only  one.  When  both  the  objects  are  present  to  the 
senses  along  with  the  relation,  we  call  this  perception  rather 
than  reasoning;  nor  is  there  in  this  case  any  exercise  of  the 
thought,  or  any  action,  properly  speaking,  but  a  mere  passive 
admission  of  the  impressions  thro'  the  organs  of  sensation.^ 
According  to  this  way  of  thinking,  we  ought  not  to  receive  as 
reasoning  any  of  the  observations  we  may  make  concerning 
identity,  and  the  relations  of  time  and  place;  since  in  none  of 
them  the  mind  can  go  beyond  what  is  immediately  present  to 
the  senses,  either  to  discover  the  real  existence  or  the  relations 
of  objects.  'T  is  only  causation,  which  produces  such  a  con- 
nexion, as  to  give  us  assurance  from  the  existence  or  action  of 
one  object,  that 't  was  follow'd  or  preceded  by  any  other  exist- 
ence or  action;  nor  can  the  other  two  relations  be  ever  made 
use  of  in  reasoning,  except  so  far  as  they  either  affect  or  are 
affected  by  it.  There  is  nothing  in  any  objects  to  perswade  us, 
that  they  are  either  always  remote  or  always  contiguous;  and 
when  from  experience  and  observation  we  discover,  that  their 
relation  in  this  particular  is  invariable,  we  always  conclude 
there  is  some  secret  cause,  which  separates  or  unites  them.  The 
same  reasoning  extends  to  identity.  We  readily  suppose  an 
object  may  continue  individually  the  same,  tho'  several  times 
absent  from  and  present  to  the  senses;  and  ascribe  to  it  an 
identity,  notwithstanding  the  interruption  of  the  perception, 
whenever  we  conclude,  that  if  we  had  kept  our  eye  or  hand  con- 
stantly upon  it,  it  wou'd  have  ccnvey'd  an  invariable  and  unin- 
terrupted perception.  But  this  conclusion  beyond  the  impres- 
sions of  our  senses  can  be  founded  only  on  the  connexion  of  cause 
and  ejfect;  nor  can  we  otherwise  have  any  security,  that  the 
*  Cf.  Green  and  Grose's  Introduction,  §  327. 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE    299 

object  is  not  cbang'd  upon  us,  however  much  the  new  object 
may  resemble  that  which  was  fonnerly  present  to  the  senses. 
Whenever  we  discover  such  a  perfect  resemblance,  we  consider 
whether  it  be  common  in  that  species  of  objects;  whether  pos- 
sibly or  probably  any  cause  cou'd  operate  in  producing  the 
change  and  resemblance;  and  according  as  we  determine  con- 
cerning these  causes  and  effects,  we  form  our  judgment  concern- 
ing the  identity  of  the  object.^ 

Here  then  it  appears,  that  of  those  three  relations,  which 
depend  not  upon  the  mere  ideas,  the  only  one,  that  can  be 
trac'd  beyond  our  senses,  and  informs  us  of  existences  and 
objects,  which  we  do  not  see  or  feel,  is  causation.  This  relation, 
therefore,  we  shall  endeavour  to  explain  fully  before  we  leave 
the  subject  of  the  understanding. 

To  begin  regularly,  we  must  consider  the  idea  of  causation 
and  see  from  what  origin  it  is  deriv'd.  'T  is  impossible  to  reason 
justly,  without  understanding  perfectly  the  idea  concerning 
which  we  reason ;  and  't  is  impossible  perfectly  to  understand 
any  idea,  without  tracing  it  up  to  its  origin,  and  examining  that 
primary  impression,  from  which  it  arises.  The  examination  of 
the  impression  bestows  a  clearness  on  the  idea;  and  the  exami- 
nation of  the  idea  bestows  a  like  clearness  on  all  our  reasoning. 

Let  us  therefore  cast  our  eye  on  any  two  subjects,  which 
we  call  cause  and  effect,  and  turn  them  on  all  sides,  in  order 
to  find  that  impression,  which  produces  an  idea  of  such  pro- 
digious consequence.  At  first  sight  I  perceive,  that  I  must  not 
search  for  it  in  any  of  the  particular  qualities  of  the  objects; 
since,  which-ever  of  these  qualities  I  pitch  on,  I  find  some 
object,  that  is  not  possest  of  it,  and  yet  falls  under  the  denom- 
ination of  cause  or  effect.  And  indeed  there  is  nothing  existent, 
either  externally  or  internally,  which  is  not  to  be  consider'd 
either  as  a  cause  or  an  effect;  tho'  't  is  plain  there  is  no  one 
quality,  which  universally  belongs  to  all  beings,  and  gives  them 
a  title  to  that  denomination. 

The  idea,  then,  of  causation  must  be  deriv'd  from  some 
relation  among  objects;  and  that  relation  we  must  now  ert- 
^  Cf.  Green  and  Grose's  Introduction,  §  313. 


30O  DAVID  HUME 

deavour  to  discover.  I  find  in  the  first  place,  that  whatever 
objects  are  consider'd  as  causes  or  effects,  are  contiguous;  and 
that  nothing  can  operate  in  a  time  or  place,  which  is  ever  so 
little  remov'd  from  those  of  its  existence.  Tho'  distant  objects 
may  sometimes  seem  productive  of  each  other,  they  are  com- 
monly found  upon  examination  to  be  link'd  by  a  chain  of 
causes,  which  are  contiguous  among  themselves,  and  to  the 
distant  objects;  and  when  in  any  particular  instance  we  cannot 
discover  this  connexion,  we  still  presume  it  to  exist.  We  may 
therefore  consider  the  relation  of  contiguity  as  essential  to 
that  of  causation;  at  least  may  suppose  it  such,  according  to 
the  general  opinion,  till  we  can  find  a  more  ^  proper  occasion  to 
clear  up  this  matter,  by  examining  what  objects  are  or  are  not 
susceptible  of  juxtaposition  and  conjunction. 

The  second  relation  I  shall  observe  as  essential  to  causes 
and  effects,  is  not  so  universally  acknowledg'd,  but  is  liable  to 
some  controversy.  'T  is  that  of  priority  of  time  in  the  cause 
before  the  effect.  Some  pretend  that 't  is  not  absolutely  neces- 
sary a  cause  shou'd  precede  its  effect;  but  that  any  object  or 
action,  in  the  very  first  moment  of  its  existence,  may  exert 
its  productive  quality,  and  give  rise  to  another  object  or  action, 
perfectly  co-temporary  with  itself.  But  beside  that  experience 
in  most  instances  seems  to  contradict  this  opinion,  we  may 
establish  the  relation  of  priority  by  a  kind  of  inference  or  rea- 
soning. 'T  is  an  establish 'd  maxim  both  in  natural  and  moral 
philosophy,  that  an  object,  which  exists  for  any  time  in  its  full 
perfection  without  producing  another,  is  not  its  sole  cause;  but 
is  assisted  by  some  other  principle,  which  pushes  it  from  its 
state  of  inactivity,  and  makes  it  exert  that  energy,  of  which  it 
was  secretly  possest.  Now  if  any  cause  may  be  perfectly  co- 
temporary  with  its  effect,  't  is  certain,  according  to  this  maxim, 
that  they  must  all  of  them  be  so;  since  any  one  of  them,  which 
retards  its  operation  for  a  single  moment,  exerts  not  itself  at 
that  very  individual  time,  in  which  it  might  have  operated, 
and  therefore  is  no  proper  cause.  The  consequence  of  this 
wou'd  be  no  less  than  the  destruction  of  that  succession  of 

»  Part  IV,  sect.  5. 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     301 

causes,  which  we  observe  in  the  world;  and  indeed,  the  utter 
annihilation  of  time.  For  if  one  cause  were  co-temporary  with 
its  effect,  and  this  effect  with  its  effect,  and  so  on,  't  is  plain 
there  wou'd  be  no  such  thing  as  succession,  and  all  objects 
must  be  co-existent. 

If  this  argument  appear  satisfactory,  'tis  well.  If  not,  I 
beg  the  reader  to  allow  me  the  same  Uberty,  which  I  have  us'd 
in  the  preceding  case,  of  supposing  it  such.  For  he  shall  find, 
that  the  affair  is  of  no  great  importance. 

Having  thus  discover 'd  or  suppos'd  the  two  relations  of 
contiguity  and  succession  to  be  essential  to  causes  and  effects, 
I  find  I  am  stopt  short,  and  can  proceed  no  farther  in  consider- 
ing any'single  instance  of  cause  and  effect.  Motion  in  one  body 
is  regarded  upon  impulse  as  the  cause  of  motion  in  another. 
When  we  consider  these  objects  with  the  utmost  attention,  we 
find  only  that  the  one  body  approaches  the  other ;  and  that  the 
motion  of  it  precedes  that  of  the  other,  but  without  any  sensible 
interval.  'T  is  in  vain  to  rack  ourselves  with  farther  thought 
and  reflection  upon  this  subject.  We  can  go  no  farther  in  con- 
sidering this  particular  instance. 

Shou'd  any  one  leave  this  instance,  and  pretend  to  define  a 
cause,  by  saying  it  is  something  productive  of  another,  't  is 
evident  he  wou'd  say  nothing.  For  what  does  he  mean  by 
production?  Can  he  give  any  definition  of  it,  that  will  not  be 
the  same  with  that  of  causation?  If  he  can;  I  desire  it  may  be 
produc'd.  If  he  cannot;  he  here  runs  in  a  circle,  and  gives  a 
synon5mious  term  instead  of  a  definition. 

Shall  we  then  rest  contented  with  these  two  relations  of 
contiguity  and  succession,  as  affording  a  complete  idea  of 
causation?  By  no  means.  An  object  may  be  contiguous  and 
prior  to  another,  without  being  consider 'd  as  its  cause.  There 
is  a  NECESSARY  CONNEXION  to  be  taken  into  consideration; 
and  that  relation  is  of  much  greater  importance,  than  any  of 
the  other  two  above-mention'd.  ^ 

*  Cf.  Green  and  Grose's  Introduction,  §  286. 


302  DAVID  HUME 

Section  XIV.   Of  the  Idea  of  Necessary  Connexion 

It  has  been  established  as  a  certain  principle,  that  general 
or  abstract  ideas  are  nothing  but  individual  ones  taken  in  a 
certain  light,  and  that,  in  reflecting  on  any  object,  't  is  as 
impossible  to  exclude  from  our  thought  all  particular  degrees 
of  quantity  and  quality  as  from  the  real  nature  of  things.  If 
we  be  possest,  therefore,  of  any  idea  of  power  in  general,  we 
must  also  be  able  to  conceive  some  particular  species  of  it;  and 
as  power  cannot  subsist  alone,  but  is  always  regarded  as  an 
attribute  of  some  being  or  existence,  we  must  be  able  to  place 
this  power  in  some  particular  being,  and  conceive  tha-t  being 
as  endow'd  with  a  real  force  and  energy,  by  which  such  a  par- 
ticular effect  necessarily  results  from  its  operation.  We  must 
distinctly  and  particularly  conceive  the  connexion  betwixt  the 
cause  and  effect,  and  be  able  to  pronounce,  from  a  simple  view 
of  the  one,  that  it  must  be  follow'd  or  preceded  by  the  other. 
This  is  the  true  manner  of  conceiving  a  particular  power  in  a 
particular  body:  and  a  general  idea  being  impossible  without  an 
individual;  where  the  latter  is  impossible,  'tis  certain  the 
former  can  never  exist.  Now  nothing  is  more  evident,  than  that 
the  human  mind  cannot  form  such  an  idea  of  two  objects,  as  to 
conceive  any  connexion  betwixt  them,  or  comprehend  distinctly 
that  power  or  efficacy,  by  which  they  are  united.  Such  a  con- 
nexion wou'd  amount  to  a  demonstration,  and  wou'd  imply  the 
absolute  impossibility  for  the  one  object  not  to  follow,  or  to  be 
conceived  not  to  follow  upon  the  other:  Which  kind  of  connex- 
ion has  already  been  rejected  in  all  cases.  If  any  one  is  of  a 
contrary  opinion,  and  thinks  he  has  attain'd  a  notion  of  power 
in  any  particular  object,  I  desire  he  may  point  out  to  me  that 
object.  But  till  I  meet  with  such-a-one,  which  I  despair  of,  I 
cannot  forbear  concluding,  that  since  we  can  never  distinctly 
conceive  how  any  particular  power  can  possibly  reside  in  any 
particular  object,  we  deceive  ourselves  in  imagining  we  can 
form  any  such  general  idea. 
"   Thus  upon  the  whole  we  may  infer,  that  when  we  talk  of  any 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     303 

being,  whether  of  a  superior  or  inferior  nature,  as  endow'd  with 
a  power  or  force,  proportion'd  to  any  effect;  when  we  speak  of  a 
necessary  connexion  betwixt  objects,  and  suppose,  that  this 
connexion  depends  upon  an  efl&cacy  or  energy,  with  which  any 
of  these  objects  are  endow'd;  in  all  these  expressions,  so  apply' d 
we  have  really  no  distinct  meaning,  and  make  use  only  of  com- 
mon words,  without  any  clear  and  determinate  ideas.  But  as 
't  is  more  probable,  that  these  expressions  do  here  lose  their 
true  meaning  by  being  wrong  apply' d,  than  that  they  never  have 
any  meaning;  't  will  be  proper  to  bestow  another  consideration 
on  this  subject,  to  see  if  possibly  we  can  discover  the  nature  and 
origin  of  those  ideas,  we  annex  to  them. 

Suppose  two  objects  to  be  presented  to  us,  of  which  the  one 
is  the  cause  and  the  other  the  effect;  't  is  plain,  that  from  the 
simple  consideration  of  one,  or  both  these  objects  we  never 
shall  perceive  the  tie,  by  which  they  are  united,  or  be  able 
certainly  to  pronounce,  that  there  is  a  connexion  betwixt  them. 
'T  is  not,  therefore,  from  any  one  instance,  that  we  arrive  at 
the  idea  of  cause  and  effect,  of  a  necessary  connexion  of  power, 
of  force,  of  energy,  and  of  efficacy.  Did  we  ever  see  any  but 
particular  conjunctions  of  objects,  entirely  different  from  each 
other,  we  shou'd  never  be  able  to  form  any  such  ideas. 

But  again;  suppose  we  observe  several  instances,  in  which 
the  same  objects  are  always  conjoin'd  together,  we  immediately 
conceive  a  connexion  betwixt  them,  and  begin  to  draw  an  in- 
ference from  one  to  another.  This  multiplicity  of  resembling 
instances,  therefore,  constitutes  the  very  essence  of  power  or 
connexion,  and  is  the  source,  from  which  the  idea  of  it  arises. 
In  order,  then,  to  understand  the  idea  of  power,  we  must  con- 
sider that  multiplicity;  nor  do  I  ask  more  to  give  a  solution  of 
that  difficulty,  which  has  so  long  perplex'd  us.  For  thus  I  rea- 
son. The  repetition  of  perfectly  similar  instances  can  never 
alone  give  rise  to  an  original  idea,  different  from  what  is  to  be 
found  in  any  particular  instance,  as  has  been  observ'd,  and  as 
evidently  follows  from  our  fundamental  principle,  that  all  ideas 
are  copy' d  from  impressions.  Since  therefore  the  idea  of  power 
is  a  new  original  idea,  not  to  be  found  in  any  one  instance,  and 


304  DAVID  HUME 

which  yet  arises  from  the  repetition  of  several  instances,  it 
follows,  that  the  repetition  alone  has  not  that  effect,  but  must 
either  discover  or  produce  something  new,  which  is  the  source 
of  that  idea.  Did  the  repetition  neither  discover  nor  produce 
any  thing  new,  our  ideas  might  be  multiply'd  by  it,  but  wou'd 
not  be  enlarg'd  above  what  they  are  upon  the  observation  of 
one  single  instance.  Every  enlargement,  therefore,  (such  as  the 
idea  of  power  or  connexion)  which  arises  from  the  multiplicity 
of  similar  instances,  is  copy'd  from  some  effects  of  the  multi- 
plicity, and  will  be  perfectly  understood  by  understanding  these 
effects.  Wherever  we  find  any  thing  new  to  be  discover'd  or 
produc'd  by  the  repetition,  there  we  must  place  the  power,  and 
must  never  look  for  it  in  any  other  object. 

But 't  is  evident,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  repetition  of  like 
objects  in  like  relations  of  succession  and  contiguity  discovers 
nothing  new  in  any  one  of  them ;  since  we  can  draw  no  inference 
from  it,  nor  make  it  a  subject  either  of  our  demonstrative  on 
probable  reasonings;  as  has  been  already  prov'd.  Nay  sup- 
pose we  cou'd  draw  an  inference,  't  wou'd  be  of  no  consequence 
in  the  present  case;  since  no  kind  of  reasoning  can  give  rise  to 
a  new  idea,  such  as  this  of  power  is;  but  wherever  we  reason,  we 
must  antecedently  be  possest  of  clear  ideas,  which  may  be  the 
objects  of  our  reasoning.  The  conception  always  precedes  the 
understanding;  and  where  the  one  is  obscure,  the  other  is  un- 
certain; where  the  one  fails,  the  other  must  fail  also. 

Secondly,  'T  is  certain  that  this  repetition  of  similar  objects 
in  similar  situations  produces  nothing  new  either  in  these  ob- 
jects, or  in  any  external  body.  For' t  will  readily  be  alJow'd,  that 
the  several  instances  we  have  of  the  conjunction  of  resembling 
causes  and  effects  are  in  themselves  entirely  independent,  and 
that  the  communication  of  motion,  which  I  see  result  at  present 
from  the  shock  of  two  billiard-balls,  is  totally  distinct  from  that 
which  I  saw  result  from  such  an  impulse  a  twelve-month  ago. 
These  impulses  have  no  influence  on  each  other. .  They  are 
entirely  divided  by  time  and  place;  and  the  one  might  have 
existed  and  communicated  motion,  tho'  the  other  never  had 
been  in  being. 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     305 

There  is,  then,  nothing  new  either  discover'd  or  produc'd  in 
any  objects  by  their  constant  conjunction,  and  by  the  uninter- 
rupted resemblance  of  their  relations  of  succession  and  con- 
tiguity. But  't  is  from  this  resemblance,  that  the  ideas  of 
necessity,  of  power,  and  of  efficacy,  are  deriv'd.  These  ideas, 
therefore,  represent  not  any  thing,  that  does  or  can  belong  to 
the  objects,  which  are  constantly  conjoin'd.  This  is  an  argu- 
ment, which,  in  every  view  we  can  examine  it,  will  be  found 
perfectly  unariswerable.  Similar  instances  are  still  the  first 
source  of  our  idea  of  power  or  necessity;  at  the  same  time  that 
they  have  no  influence  by  their  similarity  either  on  each  other, 
or  on  any  external  object.  We  must  therefore,  turn  ourselves 
to  some  other  quarter  to  seek  the  origin  of  that  idea. 

Tho'  the  several  resembling  instances,  which  give  rise  to 
the  idea  of  power,  have  no  influence  on  each  other,  and  can 
never  produce  any  new  quality  in  the  object,  which  can  be  the 
model  of  that  idea,  yet  the  observation  of  this  resemblance 
produces  a  new  impression  in  the  mind,  which  is  its  real  model. 
For  after  we  have  observ'd  the  resemblance  in  a  sufficient 
number  of  instances,  we  immediately  feel  a  determination  of 
the  mind  to  pass  from  one  object  to  its  usual  attendant,  and  to 
conceive  it  in  a  stronger  light  upon  account  of  that  relation. 
This  determination  is  the  only  effect  of  the  resemblance;  and 
therefore  must  be  the  same  with  power  or  efficacy,  whose  idea 
is  deriv'd  from  the  resemblance.  The  several  instances  of  re- 
sembling conjunctions  leads  us  into  the  notion  of  power  and 
necessity.  These  instances  are  in  themselves  totally  distinct 
from  each  other,  and  have  no  union  but  in  the  mind,  which  ob- 
serves them,  and  collects  their  ideas.  Necessity,  then,  is  the 
effect  of  this  observation,  and  is  nothing  but  an  internal  impres- 
sion of  the  mind,  or  a  determination  to  carry  our  thoughts  from 
one  object  to  another.  Without  considering  it  in  this  view,  we 
can  never  arrive  at  the  most  distant  notion  of  it,  or  be  able  to 
attribute  it  either  to  external  or  internal  objects,  to  spirit  or 
body,  to  causes  or  effects. 

The  necessary  connexion  betvvn'xt  causes  and  effects  is  the 
foundation  of  our  inference  from  one  to  the  other.  The  founda- 


3o6  DAVID  HUME 

tion  of  our  inference  is  the  transition  arising  from  the  accus- 
tom'd  union.  These  are,  therefore,  the  same. 

The  idea  of  necessity  arises  from  some  impression.  There 
is  no  impression  convey'd  by  our  senses,  which  can  give  rise 
to  that  idea.  It  must,  therefore,  be  deriv'd  from  some  internal 
impression,  or  impression  of  reflection.  There  is  no  internal 
impression,  which  has  any  relation  to  the  present  business, 
but  that  propensity,  which  custom  produces,  to  pass  from  an 
object  to  the  idea  of  its  usual  attendant.  This  therefore  is  the 
essence  of  necessity.  Upon  the  whole,  necessity  is  something, 
that  exists  in  the  mind,  not  in  objects;  nor  is  it  possible  for  us 
ever  to  form  the  most  distant  idea  of  it,  consider'd  as  a  quality 
in  bodies.  Either  we  have  no  idea  of  necessity,  or  necessity  is 
nothing  but  that  determination  of  the  thought  to  pass  from 
causes  to  effects  and  from  effects  to  causes,  according  to  their 
experienc'd  union. 

Thus  as  the  necessity,  which  makes  two  times  two  equal  to 
four,  or  three  angles  of  a  triangle  equal  to  two  right  ones,  lies 
only  in  the  act  of  the  understanding,  by  which  we  consider  and 
compare  these  ideas;  in  like  manner  the  necessity  or  power, 
which  unites  causes  and  effects,  lies  in  the  determination  of  the 
mind  to  pass  from  the  one  to  the  other.  The  efficacy  or  energy 
of  causes  is  neither  plac'd  in  the  causes  themselves,  nor  in 
the  deity,  nor  in  the  concurrence  of  these  two  principles;  but 
belongs  entirely  to  the  soul,  which  considers  the  union  of  two 
or  more  objects  in  all  past  instances.  'T  is  here  that  the  real 
power  of  causes  is  plac'd,  along  with  their  connexion  and 
necessity. 

I  am  sensible,  that  of  all  the  paradoxes,  which  I  have  had, 
or  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to  advance  in  the  course  of  this 
treatise,  the  present  one  is  the  most  violent,  and  that  't  is 
merely  by  dint  of  solid  proof  and  reasoning  I  can  ever  hope  it 
will  have  admission,  and  overcome  the  inveterate  prejudices 
of  mankind.  Before  we  are  reconcil'd  to  this  doctrine,  how 
often  must  we  repeat  to  ourselves,  that  the  simple  view  of  any 
two  objects  or  actions,  however  related,  can  never  give  us  any 
idea  of  power,  or  of  a  connexion  betwixt  them:  that  this  idea 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     307 

arises  from  the  repetition  of  their  union:  that  the  repetition 
neither  discovers  nor  causes  any  thing  in  the  objects,  but  has 
an  influence  only  on  the  mind,  by  that  customary  transition  it 
produces :  that  this  customary  transition  is,  therefore,  the  same 
with  the  power  and  necessity;  which  are  consequently  qug-lities 
of  perceptions,  not  of  objects,  and  are  internally  felt  by  the 
soul,  and  not  perceiv'd  externally  in  bodies?  There  is  com- 
monly an  astonishment  attending  every  thing  extraordinary; 
and  this  astonishment  changes  immediately  into  the  highest 
degree  of  esteem  or  contempt,  according  as  we  approve  or  dis- 
approve of  the  subject.  I  am  much  afraid,  that  tho'  the  fore- 
going reasoning  appears  to  me  the  shortest  and  most  decisive 
imaginable;  yet  with  the  generality  of  readers  the  biass  of  the 
mind  will  prevail,  and  give  them  a  prejudice  against  the  present 
doctrine. 

This  contrary  biass  is  easily  accounted  for.  'T  is  a  common 
observation,  that  the  mind  has  a  great  propensity  to  spread 
itself  on  external  objects,  and  to  conjoin  with  them  any  interna] 
impressions,  which  they  occasion,  and  which  always  make  their 
appearance  at  the  same  time  that  these  objects  discover  them- 
selves to  the  senses.  Thus  as  certain  sounds  and  smells  are 
always  found  to  attend  certain  visible  objects,  we  naturally 
imagine  a  conjunction,  even  in  place,  betwixt  the  objects  and 
qualities,  tho'  the  qualities  be  of  such  a  nature  as  to  admit  of 
no  such  conjunction,  and  really  exist  no  where.  But  of  this 
more  fully  ^  hereafter.  Mean  while  't  is  sufficient  to  observe, 
that  the  same  propensity  is  the  reason,  why  we  suppose  neces- 
sity and  power  to  lie  in  the  objects  we  consider,  not  in  our  mind, 
that  considers  them;  notwithstanding  it  is  not  possible  for  us 
to  form  the  most  distant  idea  of  that  quality,  when  it  is  not 
taken  for  the  determination  of  the  mind,  to  pass  from  the  idea 
of  an  object  to  that  of  its  usual  attendant. 

But  tho'  this  be  the  only  reasonable  account  we  can  give  of 
necessity,  the  contrary  notion  is  so  riveted  in  the  mind  from  the 
principles  above-mention'd,  that  I  doubt  not  but  my  senti- 
ments will  be  treated  by  many  as  extravagant  and  ridiculous. 

»  Part  IV,  sect.  5. 


3o8  DAVID  HUME 

What!  the  efficacy  of  causes  He  in  the  determination  of  the 
mind!  As  if  causes  did  not  operate  entirely  independent  of  the 
mind,  and  wou'd  not  continue  their  operation,  even  tho'  there 
was  no  mind  existent  to  contemplate  them,  or  reason  concern- 
ing them.  Thought  may  well  depend  on  causes  for  its  opera- 
tion, but  not  causes  on  thought.  This  is  to  reverse  the  order  of 
nature,  and  make  that  secondary,  which  is  really  primary.  To 
every  operation  there  is  a  power  proportion 'd;  and  this  power 
must  be  plac'd  on  the  body,  that  operates.  If  we  remove  the 
power  from  one  cause,  we  must  ascribe  it  to  another:  But  to 
remove  it  from  all  causes,  and  bestow  it  on  a  being,  that  is  no 
ways  related  to  the  cause  or  effect,  but  by  perceiving  them,  is  a 
gross  absurdity,  and  contrary  to  the  most  certain  principles  of 
human  reason. 

I  can  only  reply  to  all  these  arguments,  that  the  case  is  here 
much  the  same,  as  if  a  blind  man  shou'd  pretend  to  find  a  great 
many  absurdities  in  the  supposition,  that  the  colour  of  scarlet 
is  not  the  same  with  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  nor  light  the  same 
with  solidity.  If  we  have  really  no  idea  of  a  power  or  efficacy 
in  any  object,  or  of  any  real  connexion  betwixt  causes  and 
effects,  't  will  be  to  little  purpose  to  prove,  that  an  efficacy  is  ne- 
cessary in  all  operations.  We  do  not  understand  our  own  mean- 
ing in  talking  so,  but  ignorantly  confound  ideas,  which  are  en- 
tirely distinct  from  each  other.  I  am,  indeed,  ready  to  allow, 
that  there  maybe  several  qualities  both  in  material  and  imma- 
terial objects,  with  which  we  are  utterly  unacquainted;  and  if 
we  please  to  call  these  power  or  efficacy,  't  will  be  of  little  conse- 
quence to  the  world.  But  when,  instead  of  meaning  these  un- 
known qualities,  we  make  the  terms  of  power  and  efficacy  sig- 
nify something,  of  which  we  have  a  clear  idea,  and  which  is 
incompatible  with  those  objects,  to  which  we  apply  it,  obscur- 
ity and  error  begin  then  to  take  place,  and  we  are  led  astray  by 
a  false  philosophy.  This  is  the  case,  when  we  transfer  the  de- 
termination of  the  thought  to  external  objects,  and  suppose  any 
real  intelligible  connexion  betwixt  them;  that  being  a  quality, 
which  can  only  belong  to  the  mind  that  considers  them. 

As  to  what  may  be  said,  that  the  operations  of  nature  are 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     309 

independent  of  our  thought  and  reasoning,  I  allow  it;  and  ac- 
cordingly have  observ'd,  that  objects  bear  to  each  other  the 
relations  of  contiguity  and  succession;  that  like  objects  may  be 
observ'd  in  several  instances  to  have  like  relations ;  and  that  all 
this  is  independent  of,  and  antecedent  to  the  operations  of  the 
understanding.  But  if  we  go  any  farther,  and  ascribe  a  power 
or  necessary  connexion  to  these  objects;  this  is  what  we  can 
never  observe  in  them,  but  must  draw  the  idea  of  it  from  what 
we  feel  internally  in  contemplating  them.  And  this  I  carry  so 
far,  that  I  am  ready  to  convert  my  present  reasoning  into  an 
instance  of  it,  by  a  subtility,  which  it  will  not  be  difficult  to 
comprehend. 

When  any  object  is  presented  to  us,  it  immediately  conveys 
to  the  mind  a  lively  idea  of  that  object,  which  is  usually  found 
to  attend  it;  and  this  determination  of  the  mind  forms  the 
necessary  connexion  of  these  objects.  But  when  we  change  the 
point  of  view,  from  the  objects  to  the  perceptions ;  in  that  case 
the  impression  is  to  be  considered  as  the  cause,  and  the  lively 
idea  as  the  effect;  and  their  necessary  connexion  is  that  new 
determination,  which  we  feel  to  pass  from  the  idea  of  the  one  to 
that  of  the  other.  The  uniting  principle  among  our  internal 
perceptions  is  as  unintelligible  as  that  among  external  objects, 
and  is  not  known  to  us  any  other  way  than  by  experience.  Now 
the  nature  and  effects  of  experience  have  been  already  suffi- 
ciently examin'd  and  explain'd.  It  never  gives  us  any  insight 
into  the  internal  structure  or  operating  principle  of  objects,  but 
only  accustoms  the  mind  to  pass  from  one  to  another. 

'T  is  now  time  to  collect  all  the  different  parts  of  this  reason- 
ing, and  by  joining  them  together  form  an  exact  definition  of 
the  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  which  makes  the  subject  of  the 
present  enquiry.  This  order  wou'd  not  have  been  excusable,  of 
first  examining  our  inference  from  the  relation  before  we  had 
explain'd  the  relation  itself,  had  it  been  possible  to  proceed  in  a 
different  method.  But  as  the  nature  of  the  relation  depends  so 
much  on  that  of  the  inference,  we  have  been  oblig'd  to  advance 
in  this  seemingly  preposterous  manner,  and  make  use  of  terms 
before  we  were  able  exactly  to  define  them,  or  fix  their  meaning. 


3IO  DAVID  HUME 

We  shall  now  correct  this  fault  by  giving  a  precise  definition  of 
cause  and  effect. 

There  may  two  definitions  be  given  of  this  relation,  which 
are  only  different,  by  their  presenting  a  different  view  of  the 
same  object,  and  making  us  consider  it  either  as  a  philosophical 
or  as  a  natural  relation;  either  as  a  comparison  of  two  ideas, 
or  as  an  association  betwixt  them.  We  may  define  a  cause  to 
be  'An  object  precedent  and  contiguous  to  another,  and  where 
all  the  objects  resembling  the  former  are  plac'd  in  like  relations 
of  precedency  and  contiguity  to  those  objects,  that  resemble 
the  latter.'  If  this  definition  be  esteem'd  defective,  because 
drawn  from  objects  foreign  to  the  cause,  we  may  substitute  this 
other  definition  in  its  place,  viz. '  A  cause  is  an  object  precedent 
and  contiguous  to  another,  and  so  united  with  it,  that  the  idea 
of  the  one  determines  the  mind  to  form  the  idea  of  the  other, 
and  the  impression  of  the  one  to  form  a  more  lively  idea  of  the 
other.'  Shou'd  this  definition  also  be  rejected  for  the  same 
reason,  I  know  no  other  remedy,  than  that  the  persons,  who 
express  this  delicacy,  should  substitute  a  juster  definition  in  its 
place.  But  for  my  part  I  must  own  my  incapacity  for  such  an 
undertaking.  When  I  examine  with  the  utmost  accuracy  those 
objects,  which  are  commonly  denominated  causes  and  effects, 
I  find,  in  considering  a  single  instance,  that  the  one  object 
is  precedent  and  contiguous  to  the  other;  and  in  inlarging  my 
\  icw  to  consider  several  instances,  I  find  only,  that  like  objects 
are  constantly  plac'd  in  like  relations  of  succession  and  contig- 
uity. Again,  when  I  consider  the  influence  of  this  constant 
conjunction,  I  perceive,  that  such  a  relation  can  never  be  an 
object  of  reasoning,  and  can  never  operate  upon  the  mind, 
but  by  means  of  custom,  which  determines  the  imagination  to 
make  a  transition  from  the  idea  of  one  object  to  that  of  its 
usual  attendant,  and  from  the  impression  of  one  to  a  more 
lively  idea  of  the  other.  However  extraordinary  these  senti- 
ments may  appear,  I  think  it  fruitless  to  trouble  myself  with 
any  farther  enquiry  or  reasoning  upon  the  subject,  but  shall 
repose  myself  on  them  as  on  establish'd  maxims. 

'T  will  only  be  proper,  before  we  leave  this  subject,  to  draw 


A  TREATISE  OF  HUMAN  NATURE     311 

some  corrollaries  from  it,  by  which  we  may  remove  several 
prejudices  and  popular  errors,  that  have  very  much  prevail'd 
in  philosophy.  First,  We  may  learn  from  the  foregoing  doc- 
trine, that  all  causes  are  of  the  sam.e  kind,  and  that  in  particular 
there  is  no  foundation  for  that  distinction,  which  we  sometimes 
make  betwixt  efficient  causes,  and  causes  sine  qua  non;  or  be- 
twixt efficient  causes,  and  formal,  and  material,  and  exem- 
plary, and  final  causes.  For  as  our  idea  of  efficiency  is  deriv'd 
from  the  constant  conjunction  of  two  objects,  wherever  this  is 
observ'd,  the  cause  is  efficient  and  where  it  is  not,  there  can 
never  be  a  cause  of  any  kind.  For  the  same  reason  we  must 
reject  the  distinction  betwixt  cause  and  occasion,  when  sup- 
pos'd  to  signify  any  thing  essentially  different  from  each  other. 
If  constant  conjunction  be  imply'd  in  what  we  call  occasion, 
't  is  a  real  cause.  If  not,  't  is  no  relation  at  all,  and  cannot  give 
rise  to  any  argument  or  reasoning. 

Secondly,  The  same  course  of  reasoning  will  make  us  con- 
clude, that  there  is  but  one  kind  of  necessity,  as  there  is  but  one 
kind  of  cause,  and  that  the  common  distinction  betwixt  moral 
and  physical  necessity  is  without  any  foundation  in  nature. 
This  clearly  appears  from  the  precedent  explication  of  neces- 
sity. 'T  is  the  constant  conjunction  of  objects,  along  with  the 
determination  of  the  mind,  which  constitutes  a  physical  neces- 
sity:  And  the  removal  of  these  is  the  same  thing  with  chance.  As 
objects  must  either  be  conjoin'd  or  not,  and  as  the  mind  must 
either  be  determin'd  or  not  to  pass  from  one  object  to  another, 
't  is  impossible  to  admit  of  any  medium  betwixt  chance  and  an 
absolute  necessity.  In  weakening  this  conjunction  and  deter- 
mination you  do  not  change  the  nature  of  the  necessity;  since 
even  in  the  operation  of  bodies,  these  have  different  degrees  of 
constancy  and  force,  without  producing  a  different  species  of 
that  relation. 

The  distinction,  which  we  often  make  betwixt  power  and 
the  exercise  of  it,  is  equally  without  foundation. 

Thirdly,  We  may  now  be  able  fully  to  overcome  all  that 
repugnance,  which  't  is  so  natural  for  us  to  entertain  against 
the  foregoing  reasoning,  by  which  we  endeavour'd  to  prove, 


312  DAVID  HUME 

that  the  necessity  of  a  cause  to  every  beginning  of  existence 
is  not  founded  on  any  arguments  either  demonstrative  or  intui- 
tive. Such  an  opinion  will  not  appear  strange  after  the  fore- 
going definitions.  If  we  define  a  cause  to  be  an  object  precedent 
and  contiguous  to  another,  and  where  all  the  objects  resembling  the 
former  are  placed  in  a  like  relation  of  priority  and  contiguity  to 
those  objects,  that  resemble  the  latter;  we  may  easily  conceive,  that 
there  is  no  absolute  nor  metaphysical  necessity,  that  every 
beginning  of  existence  shou'd  be  attended  v/ith  such  an  object. 
If  we  define  a  cause  to  be.  An  object  precedent  and  contiguous  to 
another,  and  so  united  with  it  in  the  imagination,  that  the  idea  of 
the  one  determines  the  mind  to  form  the  idea  of  the  other,  and  the 
impression  of  the  one  to  form  a  more  lively  idea  of  the  other;  we 
shall  make  still  less  difficulty  of  assenting  to  this  opinion.  Such 
an  influence  on  the  mind  is  in  itself  perfectly  extraordinary 
and  incomprehensible;  nor  can  we  be  certain  of  its  reaUty,  but 
from  experience  and  observation. 

I  shall  add  as  a  fourth  corrollary,  that  we  can  never  have 
reason  to  believe  that  any  object  exists,  of  which  we  cannot 
form  an  idea.  For  as  all  our  reasonings  concerning  existence 
are  deriv'd  from  causation,  and  as  all  our  reasonings  concerning 
causation  are  deriv'd  from  the  experienc'd  conjunction  of 
objects,  not  from  any  reasoning  or  reflection,  the  same  experi- 
ence must  give  us  a  notion  of  these  objects,  and  must  remove 
all  mystery  from  our  conclusions.  This  is  so  evident,  that 
't  wou'd  scarce  have  merited  our  attention,  were  it  not  to 
obviate  certain  objections  of  this  kind,  which  might  arise 
against  the  following  reasonings  concerning  matter  and  sub- 
stance. I  need  not  observe,  that  a  full  knowledge  of  the  object 
is  not  requisite,  but  only  of  those  quaUties  of  it,  which  we 
believe  to  exist. 


DAVID  HARTLEY 

(1705-1757) 

OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN,  HIS  FRAME,  HIS 
DUTY,  AND  HIS  EXPECTATIONS* 

PART  I.    INTRODUCTION  f 

Man  consists  of  two  parts,  body  and  mind. 

The  first  is  subjected  to  our  senses  and  inquiries,  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  other  parts  of  the  external  material  world. 

The  last  is  that  substance,  agent,  principle,  &c.  to  which  we 
refer  the  sensations,  ideas,  pleasures,  pains,  and  voluntary 
motions. 

Sensations  are  those  internal  feelings  of  the  mind,  which  arise 
from  the  impressions  made  by  external  objects  upon  the  several 
parts  of  our  bodies. 

All  our  other  internal  feelings  may  be  called  ideas.  Some 
of  these  appear  to  spring  up  in  the  mind  of  themselves,  some 
are  suggested  by  words,  others  arise  in  other  ways.  Many 
writers  comprehend  sensations  under  ideas;  but  I  every  where 
use  these  words  in  the  senses  here  ascribed  to  them. 

*  London,  1749;  2d  ed.  (with  Life),  1791;  6th  rev.  ed.  1834. 

t  Hartley  describes  the  origin  of  the  Observations  on  Man,  in  its  Preface,  as 
follows:  —  "About  eighteen  years  ago  [1731]  I  was  informed,  that  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Gay,  then  living,  asserted  the  possibility  of  deducing  all  our  intellectual  pleasures 
and  pains  from  association.  This  put  me  upon  considering  the  power  of  associa- 
tion. Mr.  Gay  published  his  sentiments  on  this  matter,  about  the  same  time,  in 
a  Dissertation  on  the  Fundamental  Principle  oj  Virtue,  prefixed  to  Mr.  Arch- 
deacon Law's  translation  of  Archbishop  King's  Origin  of  Evil." 

The  internal  evidence,  moreover,  tends  to  prove  that  the  anonymous  tract 
entitled,  An  Enquiry  into  the  Origin  of  the  Human  Appetite  and  Affections, 
shewing  how  each  arises  from  Association,  Lincoln  1747,  which  is  the  fourth  of 
Rev.  Samuel  Parr's  Metaphysical  Tracts,  Lond.  1837,  was  also  written  by  the 
'modest'  Gay, whose  priority  as  regards  the  doctrine  of  association  is  thereby 
more  firmly  secured. 


314  DAVID  HARTLEY 

The  ideas  which  resemble  sensations,  are  called  ideas  of  sen- 
sation: all  the  rest  may  therefore  be  called  intellectual  ideas. 

It  will  appear  in  the  course  of  these  observations,  that  the 
ideas  of  sensation  are  the  elements  of  which  all  the  rest  are 
compounded.  Hence  ideas  of  sensation  may  be  termed  simple, 
intellectual  ones  complex. 

The  pleasures  and  pains  are  comprehended  under  the  sensa- 
tions and  ideas,  as  these  are  explained  above.  For  all  our  pleas- 
ures and  pains  are  internal  feelings,  and  conversely,  all  our 
internal  feelings  seem  to  be  attended  with  some  degree  either  of 
pleasure  or  pain.  However,  I  shall,  for  the  most  part,  give  the 
names  of  pleasure  and  pain  only  to  such  degrees  as  are  consider- 
able; referring  all  low  evanescent  ones  to  the  head  of  mere 
sensations  and  ideas. 

The  pleasures  and  pains  may  be  ranged  under  seven  general 
classes;  viz. 

1.  Sensation; 

2.  Imagination; 

3.  Ambition; 

4.  Self-interest; 

5.  Sympathy; 

6.  Theopathy;  and, 

7.  The  Moral  Sense;  according  as  they  arise  from, 

1.  The  impressions  made  on  the  external  senses; 

2.  Natural  or  artificial  beauty  or  deformity; 

3.  The  opinions  of  others  concerning  us; 

4.  Our  possession  or  want  of  the  means  of  happiness,  and 
security  from,  or  subjection  to,  the  hazards  of  misery; 

5.  The  pleasures  and  pains  of  our  fellow-creatures; 

6.  The  affections  excited  in  us  by  the  contemplation  of  the 
Deity;  or 

7.  Moral  beauty  and  deformity. 

The  human  mind  may  also  be  considered  as  endued  with  the 
faculties  of  memory,  imagination,  01  fancy,  understanding,  aj'ec- 
tion,  and  will. 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  315 

CHAPTER  I.  TEE  DOCTRINES  OF  VIBRATIONS  AND 
ASSOCIATION  IN  GENERAL 

My  chief  design  in  the  following  chapter  is  briefly  to  explain, 
establish,  and  apply  the  doctrines  of  vibrations  and  association. 
The  first  of  these  doctrines  is  taken  from  the  hints  concerning 
the  performance  of  sensation  and  motion,  which  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton has  given  at  the  end  of  his  Principia,^  and  in  the  Questions 
annexed  to  his  Optics^ ;  the  last,  from  what  Mr.  Locke, ^  and  other 
ingenious  persons  since  his  time,  have  delivered  concerning  the 
influence  of  association  over  our  opinions  and  affections,  and  its 
use  in  explaining  those  things  in  an  accurate  and  precise  way, 
which  are  commonly  referred  to  the  power  of  habit  and  custom, 
is  a  general  and  indeterminate  one. 

The  doctrine  of  vibrations  may  appear  at  first  sight  to  have 
no  connexion  with  that  of  association;  however,  if  these  doc- 
trines be  found  in  fact  to  contain  the  laws  of  the  bodily  and 
mental  powers  respectively,  they  must  be  related  to  each  other, 
since  the  body  and  mind  are.  One  may  expect,  that  vibrations 
should  infer  association  as  their  effect,  and  association  point  to 
vibrations  as  its  cause.  I  will  endeavour,  in  the  present  chapter, 
to  trace  out  this  mutual  relation. 

The  proper  method  of  philosophizing  seems  to  be,  to  discover 
and  establish  the  general  laws  of  action,  affecting  the  subject 
under  consideration,  from  certain  select,  well-defined,  and  well- 
attested  phenomena,  and  then  to  explain  and  predict  the  other 
phaenomena  by  these  laws.  This  is  the  method  of  analysis  and 
synthesis  recommended  and  followed  by  Sir  Isaac  Newton. 

I  shall  not  be  able  to  execute,  with  any  accuracy,  what  the 
reader  might  expect  of  this  kind,  in  respect  of  the  doctrines  of 
vibrations  and  association,  and  their  general  laws,  on  account 
of  the  great  intricacy,  extensiveness,  and  novelty  of  the  sub- 
ject. However,  I  will  attempt  a  sketch  in  the  best  manner  I 
can,  for  the  service  of  future  inquirers. 

1  Newton's  Philosophiae  naturalis  principia  mathematicoa,  Lond.  1687, 

2  Newton's  Treatise  of  Optics,  Lond.  1784. 

'  Locke's  An  Essay  Concerning  Human  Understanding,  Lond.  1690. 


3i6  DAVID  HARTLEY 

Section  I.  The  Doctrine  of  Vibrations,  and  its  Use  for 

EXPLAINING  the   SENSATIONS 

Prop.  I.  —  The  white  medullary  Substance  of  the  Brain,  spinal 
Marrow,  and  the  Neroes  proceeding  from  them,  is  the  imme- 
diate Instrument  of  Sensation  and  Motion' 

Under  the  word  hrain,  in  these  observations,  I  comprehend . 
all  that  lies  within  the  cavity  of  the  skull,  i.e.  the  cerebrum,  or 
brain  properly  so   called,   the  cerebellum^  and   the  medulla 
oblongata. 

This  proposition  seems  to  be  sufficiently  proved  in  the  writ- 
ings of  physicians  and  anatomists;  from  the  structure  and  func- 
tions of  the  several  organs  of  the  human  body;  from  experi- 
ments on  living  animals;  from  the  symptoms  of  diseases,  and 
from  dissections  of  morbid  bodies.  Sensibility,  and  the  power 
of  motion,  seem  to  be  conveyed  to  all  the  parts,  in  their  natural 
state,  from  the  brain  and  spinal  marrow,  along  the  nerves. 
These  arise  from  the  medullary,  not  the  cortical  part,  every 
where,  and  are  themselves  of  a  white  medullary  substance. 
When  the  nerves  of  any  part  are  cut,  tied,  or  compressed  in  any 
considerable  degree,  the  functions  of  that  part  are  either 
entirely  destroyed,  or  much  impaired.  When  the  spinal  mar- 
row is  compressed  by  a  dislocation  of  the  vertebrce  of  the  back, 
all  the  parts,  whose  nerves  arise  below  the  place  of  dislocation, 
become  paralytic.  When  any  considerable  injury  is  done  to  the 
medullary  substance  of  the  brain,  sensation,  voluntary  motion,' 
memory,  and  intellect,  are  either  entirely  lost,  or  much  im- 
paired; and  if  the  injury  be  very  great,  this  extends  immedi- 
ately to  the  vital  motions  also,  viz.  to  those  of  the  heart,  and 
organs  of  respiration,  so  as  to  occasion  death.  But  this  does  not 
hold  equally  in  respect  of  the  cortical  substance  of  the  brain; 
perhaps  not  at  all,  unless  as  far  as  injuries  done  to  it  extend 
themselves  to  the  medullary  substance.  In  dissections  after 
apoplexies,  palsies,  epilepsies,  and  other  distempers  affecting 
the  sensations  and  motions,  it  is  usual  to  find  some  great  dis- 
order in  the  brain,  from  preternatural  tumours,  from  blood, 
matter,  or  serum,  lying  upon  the  brain,  or  in  its  ventricles,  &c. 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  317 

This  may  suffice  as  general  evidence  for  the  present.  The  par- 
ticular reasons  of  some  of  these  phaenomena,  with  more  definite 
evidences,  will  offer  themselves  in  the  course  of  these  observa- 
tions. 

Prop.  II.  —  The  white  medullary  Substance  of  the  Brain  is  also 
the  immediate  Instrument,  by  which  Ideas  are  presented  to  the 
Mind:  or,  in  other  words,  whatever  Changes  are  made  in  this ' 
Substance,  corresponding  Changes  are  made  in  our  Ideas;  and 
vice  versa. 

The  evidence  for  this  proposition  is  also  to  be  taken  from  the 
writings  of  physicians  and  anatomists;  but  especially  from 
those  parts  of  these  writings  which  treat  of  the  faculties  of 
memory,  attention,  imagination,  &c.  and  of  mental  disorders. 
It  is  sufficiently  manifest  from  hence,  that  the  perfection  of  our 
mental  faculties  depends  upon  the  perfection  of  this  substance; 
that  all  injuries  done  to  it  affect  the  trains  of  ideas  proportion- 
ably;  and  that  these  cannot  be  restored  to  their  natural  course 
till  such  injuries  be  repaired.  Poisons,  spirituous  liquors,  opi- 
ates, fevers,  blows  upon  the  head,  &c.  all  plainly  affect  the 
mind,  by  first  disordering  the  medullary  substance.  And  evac- 
uations, rest,  medicines,  time.,  &c.  as  plainly  restore  the  mind 
to  its  former  state,  by  reversing  the  foregoing  steps.  But  there 
will  be  more  and  more  definite  evidence  offered  in  the  course  of 
these  observations. 

Prop.  III.  —  The  Sensations  remain  in  the  Mind  for  a  short  time 
after  the  sensible  Objects  are  removed. 
This  is  very  evident  in  the  sensations  impressed  on  the  eye. 
Thus,  to  use  Sir  Isaac  Newton's  words,  "If  a  burning  coal  be 
nimbly  moved  round  in  a  circle,  with  gyrations  continually  re- 
peated, the  whole  circle  will  appear  like  fire;  the  reason  of 
which  is,  that  the  sensation  of  the  coal,  in  the  several  places  of 
that  circle,  remains  impressed  on  the  sensorium  until  the  coal 
return  again  to  the  same  place.  And  so  in  a  quick  consecution 
of  the  colours,"  {viz.  red,  yellow,  green,  blue,  and  purple,  men- 
tioned in  the  experiment,  whence  this  passage  is  taken,)  "the 


3i8  DAVID  HARTLEY 

impression  of  every  colour  remains  on  the  sensorium  until  a 
revolution  of  all  the  colours  be  completed,  and  that  first  colour 
return  again.  The  impressions  therefore  of  all  the  successive 
colours  are  at  once  in  the  sensorium  —  and  beget  a  sensation 
of  white."  Opt.  b.  I.  p.  2.  Experiment  10. 

Thus  also,  when  a  person  has  had  a  candle,  a  window,  or  any 
other  lucid  and  well-defined  object,  before  his  eyes  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  he  may  perceive  a  very  clear  and  precise  image 
thereof  to  be  left  in  the  sensorium,  fancy,  or  mind  (for  these  I 
consider  as  equivalent  expressions  in  our  entrance  upon  these 
disquisitions,)  for  some  time  after  he  has  closed  his  eyes.  At 
least  this  will  happen  frequently  to  persons  who  are  attentive 
to  these  things  in  a  gentle  way;  for,  as  this  appearance  escapes 
the  notice  of  those  who  are  entirely  inattentive,  so  too  earnest 
a  desire  and  attention  prevents  it,  by  introducing  another  state 
of  mind  or  fancy. 

To  these  may  be  referred  the  appearance  mentioned  by  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  Opt.  Qu.  16.  viz.  "When. a  man  in  the  dark 
presses  either  comer  of  his  eye  with  his  finger,  and  turns  his  eye 
away  from  his  finger,  he  will  see  a  circle  of  colours  like  those  in 
the  feather  of  a  peacock's  tail.  And  this  appearance  continues 
about  a  second  of  time  after  the  eye  and  finger  have  remained 
quiet."  The  sensation  continues  therefore  in  the  mind  about  a 
second  of  time  after  its  cause  ceases  to  act. 

The  same  continuance  of  the  sensations  is  also  evident  in  the 
ear.  For  the  sounds  which  we  hear  are  reflected  by  the  neigh- 
bouring bodies,  and  therefore  consist  of  a  variety  of  sounds, 
succeeding  each  other  at  difi'erent  distances  of  time,  according 
to  the  distances  of  the  several  reflecting  bodies;  which  yet 
causes  no  confusion  or  apparent  complexity  of  sound,  unless  the 
distance  of  the  reflecting  bodies  be  very  considerable,  as  in  spa- 
cious buildings.  Much  less  are  we  able  to  distinguish  the  suc- 
cessive pulses  of  the  air,  even  in  the  gravest  sounds. 

As  to  the  senses  of  taste  and  smell,  there  seems  to  be  no  clear 
direct  evidence  for  the  continuance  of  their  sensations  after  the 
proper  objects  are  removed.  But  analogy  would  incline  one  to 
believe,  that  they  must  resemble  the  senses  of  sight  and  hearing 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  319 

in  this  particular,  though  the  continuance  cannot  be  perceived 
distinctly,  on  account  of  the  shortness  of  it,  or  other  circum- 
stances. For  the  sensations  must  be  supposed  to  bear  such  an 
analogy  to  each  other,  and  so  to  depend  in  common  upon  the 
brain,  that  all  evidences  for  the  continuance  of  sensations  in 
any  one  sense,  will  extend  themselves  to  the  rest.  Thus  all  the 
senses  may  be  considered  as  so  many  kinds  of  feeling;  the  taste 
is  nearly  allied  to  the  feeling,  the  smell  to  the  taste,  and  the 
sight  and  hearing  to  each  other.  All  which  analogies  will  offer 
themselves  to  view  when  we  come  to  examine  each  of  these 
senses  in  particular. 

In  the  sense  of  feeling,  the  continuance  of  heat,  after  the 
heating  body  is  removed,  and  that  of  the  smart  of  a  wound, 
after  the  instant  of  infliction,  seem  to  be  of  the  same  kind  with 
the  appearances  taken  notice  of  in  the  eye  and  ear. 

But  the  greatest  part  of  the  sensations  of  this  sense  resemble 
those  of  taste  and  smell,  and  vanish  to  appearance  as  soon  as 
the  objects  are  removed. 

Prop.  IV.  —  External  Objects  impressed  upon  the  Senses  occa- 
sion, first  in  the  Nerves  on  which  they  are  impressed,  and  then  in 
the  Brain,  Vibrations  of  the  small,  and  as  one  may  say,  infini- 
tesimal, medullary  Particles. 

These  vibrations  are  motions  backwards  and  forwards  of  the 
small  particles;  of  the  same  kind  with  the  oscillations  of  pen- 
dulums, and  the  tremblings  of  the  particles  of  sounding  bodies. 
They  must  be  conceived  to  be  exceedingly  short  and  small,  so 
as  not  to  have  the  least  efficacy  to  disturb  or  move  the  whole 
bodies  of  the  nerves  or  brain.  For  that  the  nerves  themselves 
should  vibrate  like  musical  strings,  is  highly  absurd ;  nor  was  it 
ever  asserted  by  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  or  any  of  those  who  have 
embraced  his  notion  of  the  performance  of  sensation  and  mo- 
tion, by  means  of  vibrations. 

In  like  manner  we  are  to  suppose  the  particles  which  vibrate, 
to  be  of  the  inferior  orders,  and  not  those  biggest  particles,  on 
which  the  operations  in  chemistry,  and  the  colours  of  natural 
bodies,  depend,  according  to  the  opinion  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton. 


320  DAVID  HARTLEY 

Hence,  in  the  proposition,  I  term  the  medullary  particles,  which 
vibrate,  infinitesimal. 

Now  that,  external  objects  impress  vibratory  motions  upon 
the  medullary  substance  of  the  nerves  and  brain  (which  is  the 
immediate  instrument  of  sensation,  according  to  the  first  pro- 
position) appears  from  the  continuance  of  the  sensations  men- 
tioned in  the  third;  since  no  motion,  besides  a  vibratory  one, 
can  reside  in  any  part  for  the  least  moment  of  time.  External 
objects,  being  corporeal,  can  act  upon  the  nerves  and  brain, 
which  are  also  corporeal,  by  nothing  but  impressing  motion  on 
them.  A  vibrating  motion  may  continue  for  a  short  time  in  the 
small  medullary  particles  of  the  nerves  and  brain,  without  dis- 
turbing them,  and  after  a  short  time  would  cease;  and  so  would 
correspond  to  the  above-mentioned  short  continuance  of  the 
sensations;  and  there  seems  to  be  no  other  species  of  motion 
that  can  correspond  thereto. 

Cor.  As  this  proposition  is  deduced  from  the  foregoing,  so 
if  it  could  be  established  upon  independent  principles,  (of 
which  I  shall  treat  under  the  next,)  the  foregoing  might  be  de- 
duced from  it.  And  on  this  supposition  there  would  be  an  argu- 
ment for  the  continuance  of  the  sensations,  after  the  removal 
of  their  objects;  which  would  extend  to  the  senses  of  feeling, 
taste,  and  smell,  in  the  same  manner  as  to  those  of  sight  and 
hearing. 

Section  II.  —  Of  Ideas,  their  Generation  and  Associa- 
tions; AND  OF  THE  AGREEMENT  OF  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  VI- 
BRATIONS  with   THE   PHiENOMENA   OF   IdEAS. 

Prop.  VIII.  —  Sensations,  hy  being  often  repeated,  leave  certain 
Vestiges,  Types,  or  Images,  of  themselves,  which  may  be  called, 
Simple  Ideas  of  Sensation. 

I  TOOK  notice  in  the  Introduction,  that  those  ideas  which 
resemble  sensations  were  called  ideas  of  sensation ;  and  also  that 
they  might  be  called  simple  ideas,  in  respect  of  the  intellectual 
ones  which  are  formed  from  them,  and  of  whose  very  essence  it 
is  to  be  complex.  But  the  ideas  of  sensation  are  not  entirely 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  321 

simple,  since  they  must  consist  of  parts  both  co-existent  and 
successive,  as  the  generating  sensations  themselves  do. 

Now,  that  the  simple  ideas  of  sensation  are  thus  generated, 
agreeably  to  the  proposition,  appears,  because  the  most  vivid 
of  these  ideas  are  those  where  the  corresponding  sensations 
are  most  vigorously  impressed,  or  most  frequently  renewed; 
whereas  if  the  sensation  be  faint,  or  uncommon,  the  generated 
idea  is  also  faint  in  proportion,  and,  in  extreme  cases,  evanes- 
cent and  imperceptible.  The  exact  observance  of  the  order  of 
place  in  visible  ideas,  and  of  the  order  of  time  in  audible  ones, 
may  hkewise  serve  to  shew,  that  these  ideas  are  copies  and  off- 
springs of  the  impressions  made  on  the  eye  and  ear,  in  which  the 
same  orders  were  observed  respectively.  And  though  it  hap- 
pens, that  trains  of  visible  and  audible  ideas  are  presented  in 
sallies  of  the  fancy,  and  in  dreams,  in  which  the  order  of  time 
and  place  is  different  from  that  of  any  former  impressions,  yet 
the  small  component  parts  of  these  trains  are  copies  of  former 
impressions;  and  reasons  may  be  given  for  the  varieties  of  their 
compositions. 

It  is  also  to  be  observed,  that  this  proposition  bears  a  great 
resemblance  to  the  third;  and  that,  by  this  resemblance,  they 
somewhat  confirm  and  illustrate  one  another.  According  to  the 
.third  proposition,  sensations  remain  for  a  short  time  after  the 
impression  is  removed;  and  these  remaining  sensations  grow 
feebler  and  feebler,  till  they  vanish.  They  are  therefore,  in 
some  part  of  their  declension,  of  about  the  same  strength  with 
ideas,  and  in  their  first  state,  are  intermediate  between  sensa- 
tions and  ideas.  And  it  seems  reasonable  to  expect,  that,  if  a 
single  sensation  can  leave  a  perceptible  effect,  trace,  or  vestige, 
for  a  short  time,  a  sufficient  repetition  of  a  sensation  may  leave 
a  perceptible  effect  of  the  same  kind,  but  of  a  more  permanent 
nature,  i.e.  an  idea,  which  shall  recur  occasionally,  at  long 
distances  of  time,  from  the  impression  of  the  corresponding 
sensation,  and  vice  versa.  As  to  the  occasions  and  causes,  which 
make  ideas  recur,  they  will  be  considered  in  the  next  proposi- 
tion but  one. 

The  method  of  reasoning  used  in  the  last  paragraph  is  farther 


322  DAVID  HARTLEY 

confirmed  by  the  following  circumstance;  viz.  that  both  the 
diminutive  declining  sensations,  which  remain  for  a  short  space 
after  the  impressions  of  the  objects  cease,  and  the  ideas,  which 
are  the  copies  of  such  impressions,  are  far  more  distinct  and  vivid 
in  respect  of  visible  and  audible  impressions,  than  of  any  others. 
To  which  it  may  be  added,  that,  after  travelling,  hearing  music, 
&c.  trains  of  vivid  ideas  are  very  apt  to  recur,  which  correspond 
very  exactly  to  the  late  impressions,  and  which  are  of  an  inter- 
mediate nature  between  the  remaining  sensations  of  the  third 
proposition,  in  their  greatest  vigour,  and  the  ideas  mentioned 
in  this. 

The  sensations  of  feeling,  taste  and  smell,  can  scarce  be  said 
to  leave  ideas,  unless  very  indistinct  and  obscure  ones.  How- 
ever, an  analogy  leads  one  to  suppose  that  these  sensations  may 
leave  traces  of  the  same  kind,  though  not  in  the  same  degree, 
as  those  of  sight  and  hearing;  so  the  readiness  with  which  we 
reconnoitre  sensations  of  feeling,  taste,  and  smell,  that  have 
been  often  impressed,  is  an  evidence  that  they  do  so;  and  these 
generated  traces  or  dispositions  of  mind  may  be  called  the 
ideas  of  feeling,  taste,  and  smell.  In  sleep,  when  all  our  ideas 
are  magnified,  those  of  feeling,  taste,  and  smell,  are  often  suffi- 
ciently vivid  and  distinct;  and  the  same  thing  happens  in  some 
few  cases  of  vigilance. 

Prop.  IX.  —  Sensory  Vibrations,  by  being  often  repeated,  beget, 

in  the  medullary  Substance  of  the  Brain,  a  Disposition  to 

diminutive  Vibrations,  which  may  also  be  called  Vibratiuncles, 

and  Miniatures,  corresponding  to  themselves  respectively. 

This  correspondence  of  the  diminutive  vibrations  to  the 

original  sensory  ones,  consists  in  this,  that  they  agree  in  kind, 

place,  and  line  of  direction ;  and  differ  only  in  being  more  feeble, 

i.e.  in  degree. 

This  proposition  follows  from  the  foregoing.  For  since  sensa- 
tions, by  being  often  repeated,  beget  ideas,  it  cannot  but  be 
that  those  vibrations,  which  accompany  sensations,  should  be- 
get something  which  may  accompany  ideas  in  like  manner;  and 
this  can  be  nothing  but  feebler  vibrations,  agreeing  with  the 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  323 

sensory  generating  vibrations  in  kind,   place,   and  line  of 
direction. 

Or  thus :  By  the  first  proposition  it  appears,  that  some  motion 
must  be  excited  in  the  medullary  substance,  during  each  sensa- 
tion; by  the  fourth,  this  motion  is  determined  to  be  a  vibratory 
one:  since  therefore  some  motion  must  also,  by  the  second,  be 
excited  in  the  medullary  substance  during  the  presence  of  each 
idea,  this  motion  cannot  be  any  other  than  a  vibratory  one :  else 
how  should  it  proceed  from  the  original  vibration  attending  the 
sensation,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  idea  does  from  the  sensa- 
tion itself?  It  must  also  agree  in  kind,  place,  and  line  of  direc- 
tion, with  the  generating  vibration.  A  vibratory  motion,  which 
recurs  t  times  in  a  second,  cannot  beget  a  diminutive  one  that 
recurs  ^  t,  or  2  i  times;  nor  one  originally  impressed  on  the 
region  of  the  brain  corresponding  to  the  auditory  nerves,  beget 
diminutive  vibrations  in  the  region  corresponding  to  the  optic 
nerves ;  and  so  of  the  rest.  The  line  of  direction  must  likewise 
be  the  same  in  the  original  and  derivative  vibrations.  It 
remains  therefore,  that  each  simple  idea  of  sensation  be  at- 
tended by  diminutive  vibrations  of  the  same  kind,  place,  and 
line  of  direction,  with  the  original  vibrations  attending  the  sen- 
sation itself:  or,  in  the  words  of  the  proposition,  that  sensory 
vibrations,  by  being  frequently  repeated,  beget  a  disposition  to 
diminutive  vibrations  corresponding  to  themselves  respect- 
ively. We  may  add,  that  the  vibratory  nature  of  the  motion 
which  attends  ideas,  may  be  inferred  from  the  continuance  of 
some  ideas,  visible  ones  for  instance,  in  the  fancy  for  a  few 
moments. 


Prop.  X.  —  Any  Sensations  A,  B,  C,  &*€.  by  being  associated 
with  one  another  a  sufficient  Number  of  Times,  get  such  a  Power 
over  the  corresponding  Ideas  a,  b,  c,  ^c.  that  any  one  of  the 
Sensations  A,  when  impressed  alone,  shall  be  able  to  excite  in 
the  Mind,  b,  c,  fe'c.  the  Ideas  of  the  rest. 
Sensations  may  be  said  to  be  associated  together,  when 

their  impressions  are  either  made  precisely  at  the  same  instant 


324  DAVID  HARTLEY 

of  time,  or  in  the  contiguous  successive  instants.  We  may 
therefore  distinguish  association  into  two  sorts,  the  synchron- 
ous, and  the  successive. 

The  influence  of  association  over  our  ideas,  opinions,  and 
afifections,  is  so  great  and  obvious,  as  scarcely  to  have  escaped 
the  notice  of  any  writer  who  has  treated  of  these,  though  the 
word  association,  in  the  particular  sense  here  affixed  to  it,  was 
first  brought  into  use  by  Mr.  Locke.  But  all  that  has  been 
delivered  by  the  ancients  and  moderns,  concerning  the  power 
of  habit,  custom,  example,  education,  authority,  party- 
prejudice,  the  manner  of  learning  the  manual  and  liberal 
arts,  &c.  goes  upon  this  doctrine  as  its  foundation,  and  may 
be  considered  as  the  detail  of  it,  in  various  circumstances. 
I  here  begin  with  the  simplest  case,  and  shall  proceed  to 
more  and  more  complex  ones  continually,  till  I  have  ex- 
hausted what  has  occurred  to  me  upon  this  subject. 

This  proposition,  or  first  and  simplest  case  of  association,  is 
manifest  from  innumerable  common  observations.  Thus,  the 
names,  smells,  tastes,  and  tangible  qualities  of  natural  bodies, 
suggest  their  visible  appearances  to  the  fancy,  i.e.  excite  their 
visible  ideas;  and,  vice  versd,  their  visible  appearances  impressed 
on  the  eye  raise  up  those  powers  of  reconnoitring  their  names, 
smells,  tastes,  and  tangible  qualities,  which  may  not  improperly 
be  called  their  ideas,  as  above  noted;  and  in  some  cases  raise  up 
ideas,  which  may  be  compared  with  visible  ones,  in  respect  of 
vividness.  All  which  is  plainly  owing  to  the  association  of  the 
several  sensible  qualities  of  bodies  with  their  names,  and  with 
each  other.  It  is  remarkable,  however,  as  being  agreeable  to 
the  superior  vividness  of  visible  and  audible  ideas,  before  taken 
notice  of,  that  the  suggestion  of  the  visible  appearance  from  the 
name  is  the  most  ready  of  any  other;  and,  next  to  this,  that  of 
the  name  from  the  visible  appearance;  in  which  last  case,  the 
reality  of  the  audible  idea,  when  not  evident  to  the  fancy,  may 
be  inferred  from  the  ready  pronunciation  of  the  name.  For  it 
will  be  shewn  hereafter,  that  the  audible  idea  is  most  commonly 
a  previous  requisite  to  pronunciation.  Other  instances  of  the 
power  of  association  may  be  taken  from  compound  visible  and 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  325 

audible  impressions.  Thus  the  sight  of  part  of  a  large  building 
suggests  the  idea  of  the  rest  instantaneously;  and  the  sound  of 
the  words  which  begin  a  familiar  sentence,  brings  the  remaining 
part  to  our  memories  in  order,  the  association  of  the  parts  being 
synchronous  in  the  first  case,  and  successive  in  the  last. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  that,  in  successive  associations,  the  power 
of  raising  the  ideas  is  only  exerted  according  to  the  order  in 
which  the  association  is  made.  Thus,  if  the  impressions  A ,  B,  C, 
be  always  made  in  the  order  of  the  alphabet,  B  impressed  alone 
will  not  raise  a,  but  c  only.  Agreeably  to  which  it  is  easy  to 
repeat  familiar  sentences  in  the  order  in  which  they  always 
occur,  but  impossible  to  do  it  readily  in  an  inverted  one.  The 
reason  of  this  is,  that  the  compound  idea,  c,  b,  a,  corresponds  to 
the  compound  sensation  C,  B,A;  and  therefore  requires  the  im- 
pression of  C,  B,  A,  in  the  same  manner  as  a,  b,  c,  does  that  of 
A,  B,  C.  This  will,  however,  be  more  evident,  when  we  come 
to  consider  the  associations  of  vibratory  motions,  in  the  next 
proposition. 

It  is  also  to  be  observed,  that  the  power  of  association  grows 
feebler,  as  the  number  either  of  synchronous  or  successive  im- 
pressions is  increased,  and  does  not  extend,  with  due  force,  to 
more  than  a  small  one,  in  the  first  and  simplest  cases.  But,  in 
complex  cases,  or  the  associations  of  associations,  of  which  the 
memory,  in  its  full  extent,  consists,  the  powers  of  the  mind, 
deducible  from  this  source,  will  be  found  much  greater  than  any 
person,  upon  his  first  entrance  on  these  inquiries,  could  well 
imagine. 

Prop.  XL  —  Any  Vibrations,  A,  B,  C,  &°c.  by  being  associated 
together  a  sufficient  Number  of  Times,  get  such  a  Power  over 
a,  b,  c,  &°c.  the  corresponding  Miniature  Vibrations,  that  any 
■  of  the  Vibrations  A,  when  impressed  alone,  shall  be  able  to 
excite  b,  c,  &'c.  the  Miniatures  of  the  rest. 
This  proposition  may  be  deduced  from  the  foregoing,  in  the 

same  manner  as  the  ninth  has  been  from  the  eighth. 

But  it  seems  also  deducible  from  the  nature  of  vibrations, 

and  of  an  animal  body.  Let  A  and  B  be  two  vibrations,  asso- 


326  DAVID  HARTLEY 

dated  synchronically.  Now,  it  is  evident,  that  the  vibration  A 
(for  I  will,  in  this  proposition,  speak  of  A  and  B  in  the  singular 
number,  for  the  sake  of  greater  clearness)  will,  by  endeavouring 
to  diffuse  itself  into  those  parts  of  the  medullary  substance  which 
are  affected  primarily  by  the  vibration  B,  in  some  measure 
modify  and  change  B,  so  as  to  make  B  a  little  different  from  what 
it  would  be,  if  impressed  alone.  For  the  same  reasons  the  vibra- 
tion A  will  be  a  little  affected,  even  in  its  primary  seat,  by  the 
endeavour  of  B  to  diffuse  itself  all  over  the  medullary  sub- 
stance. Suppose  now  the  vibrations  A  and  B  to  be  impressed  at 
the  same  instant,  for  a  thousand  times;  it  follows,  from  the 
ninth  proposition,  that  they  will  first  overcome  the  disposition 
to  the  natural  vibrations  N,  and  then  leave  a  tendency  to  them- 
selves, which  will  now  occupy  the  place  of  the  original  natural 
tendency  to  vibrations.  When  therefore  the  vibration  A  is  im- 
pressed alone,  it  cannot  be  entirely  such  as  the  object  would 
excite  of  itself,  but  must  lean,  even  in  its  primar>^  seat,  to  the 
modifications  and  changes  induced  by  B,  during  their  thousand 
joint  impressions;  and  therefore  much  more,  in  receding  from 
this  primary  seat,  will  it  lean  that  way;  and  when  it  comes  to 
the  seat  of  B,  it  will  excite  5's  miniature  a  little  modified 
and  changed  by  itself. 

Or  thus:  When  A  is  impressed  alone,  some  vibration  must 
take  place  in  the  primary  seat  of  B,  both  on  account  of  the  heat 
and  pulsation  of  the  arteries,  and  because  A  will  endeavour  to 
diffuse  itself  over  the  whole  medullary  substance.  This  cannot 
be  that  part  of  the  natural  vibrations  A^,  which  belongs  to  this 
region,  because  it  is  supposed  to  be  overruled  already.  It  can- 
not be  that  which  A  impressed  alone  would  have  propagated 
this  region,  because  that  has  always  hitherto  been  overruled, 
and  converted  into  B;  and  therefore  cannot  have  begotten  a 
tendency  to  itself.  It  cannot  be  any  full  vivid  vibration,  such 
as  B,  C,  D,  &c.  belonging  to  this  region,  because  all  full  vibra- 
tions require  the  actual  impression  of  an  object  upon  the  corre- 
sponding external  organ.  And  of  miniature  vibrations  belong- 
ing to  this  region,  such  as  b,  c,  d,  &c.  it  is  evident,  that  b  has  the 
preference,  since  A  leans  to  it  a  little,  even  in  its  own  primary 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  327 

seat,  more  and  more,  in  receding  from  this,  and  almost  entirely, 
when  it  comes  to  the  primary  seat  of  B.  For  the  same  reasons 
B  impressed  alone  will  excite  a;  and,  in  general,  ii  A,  B,  C,  &c. 
be  vibrations  synchronically  impressed  on  different  regions  of 
the  medullary  substance,  A  impressed  alone  will  at  last  excite 
b,  c,  &c.  according  to  the  proposition. 

If  A  and  B  be  vibrations  impressed  successively,  then  will  the 
latter  part  of  ^,  viz.  that  part  which,  according  to  the  third  and 
fourth  propositions,  remains,  after  the  impression  of  the  object 
ceases,  be  modified  and  altered  by  B,  at  the  same  time  that  it 
will  a  little  modify  and  alter  it,  till  at  last  it  be  quite  over- 
powered by  it,  and  end  in  it.  It  follows  therefore,  by  a  like 
method  of  reasoning,  that  the  successive  impression  of  A  and  B, 
sufficiently  repeated,  will  so  alter  the  medullary  substance,  as 
that  when  A  is  impressed  alone,  its  latter  part  shall  be  not  such 
as  the  sole  impression  of  A  requires,  but  lean  towards  B,  and 
end  in  b  at  last.  But  B  will  not  excite  a  in  a  retrograde  order; 
since,  by  supposition,  the  latter  part  of  B  was  not  modified  and 
altered  by  A ,  but  by  some  other  vibration,  such  as  C  or  D.  And 
as  B,  bv  being  followed  by  C,  may  at  last  raise  c;  so  b,  when 
raised  by  ^,  in  the  method  here  proposed,  may  be  also  suffi- 
cient to  raise  c;  inasmuch  as  the  miniature  c  being  a  feeble  mo- 
tion, not  stronger,  perhaps,  than  the  natural  vibrations  A^, 
requires  only  to  have  its  kind,  place,  and  line  of  direction,  de- 
termined by  association,  the  heat  and  arterial  pulsation  con- 
veying to  it  the  requisite  degree  of  strength.  And  thus  A  im- 
pressed alone  will  raise  b,  c,  &c.  in  successive  associations, 
as  well  as  in  synchronous  ones,  according  to  the  proposi- 
tion. 

It  seems  also,  that  the  influence  of  A  may,  in  some  degree, 
reach  through  B  to  C;  so  that  A  of  itself  may  have  some  effect 
to  raise  c,  as  well  as  by  means  of  b.  However,  it  is  evident,  that 
this  chain  must  break  off,  at  last,  in  long  successions;  and  that 
sooner  or  later,  according  to  the  number  and  vigour  of  the 
repeated  impressions.  The  power  of  miniature  vibrations  to 
raise  other  miniatures  may,  perhaps,  be  made  clearer  to  mathe- 
maticians, by  hinting,  that  the  efficacy  of  any  vibration  to  raise 


328        •  DAVID  HARTLEY 

any  other,  is  not  in  the  simple  ratio  of  its  vividness,  but  as  some 
power  thereof  less  than  unity;  for  thus  b  may  raise  c,  a  weaker 
vibration  than  b,  c  may  raise  d,  &c.  with  more  facility  than  if 
the  efficacy  was  in  the  simple  ratio  of  the  vividness,  and  yet  so 
that  the  series  shall  break  off  at  last. 

If  the  ninth  proposition  be  allowed,  we  may  prove  this  in 
somewhat  a  shorter  and  easier  manner,  as  follows.  Since  the 
vibrations  A  and  B  are  impressed  together,  they  must,  from  the 
diffusion  necessary  to  vibratory  motions,  run  into  one  vibration ; 
and  consequently,  after  a  number  of  impressions  sufficiently 
repeated,  will  leave  a  trace,  or  miniature,  of  themselves,  as  one 
vibration,  which  will  recur  every  now  and  them,  from  slight 
causes.  Much  rather,  therefore,  may  the  part  b  of  the  com- 
pound miniature  a  +  b  recur,  when  the  part  A  of  the  compound 
original  vibration  A-\-B  is  impressed. 

And  as  the  ninth  proposition  may  be  thus  made  to  prove  the 
present,  so  it  ought  to  be  acknowledged  and  remarked  here, 
that  unless  the  ninth  be  allowed,  the  present  cannot  be  proved, 
or  that  the  power  of  association  is  founded  upon,  and  necessa- 
rily requires,  the  previous  power  of  forming  ideas,  and  miniature 
vibrations.  For  ideas,  the  miniature  vibrations,  must  first  be 
generated,  according  to  the  eighth  and  ninth  propositions, 
before  they  can  be  associated,  according,  to  the  tenth  and  this 
eleventh.  But  then  (which  is  very  remarkable)  this  power  of 
forming  ideas,  and  their  corresponding  miniature  vibrations, 
does  equally  presuppose  the  power  of  association.  For  since  all 
sensations  and  vibrations  are  infinitely  divisible,  in  respect  of 
time  and  place,  they  could  not  leave  any  traces  or  images  of 
themselves,  i.e.  any  ideas,  or  miniature  vibrations,  unless  their 
infinitesimal  parts  did  cohere  together  through  joint  impres- 
sion, i.e.  association.  Thus,  to  mention  a  gross  instance,  we 
could  have  no  proper  idea  of  a  horse,  unless  the  particular  ideas 
of  the  head,  neck,  body,  legs,  and  tail,  peculiar  to  this  animal, 
stuck  to  each  other  in  the  fancy,  from  frequent  joint  impres- 
sion. And,  therefore,  in  dreams,  where  complex  associations  are 
much  weakened,  and  various  parcels  of  visible  ideas,  not  joined 
in  nature,  start  up  together  in  the  fancy,  contiguous  to  each 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN  329 

other,  we  often  see  monsters,  chimeras,  and  combinations, 
which  have  never  been  actually  presented. 


Prop.  XII.  —  Simple  Ideas  will  run  into  complex  ones,  by 
Means  of  Association. 

In  order  to  explain  and  prove  this  proposition,  it  will  be 
requisite  to  give  some  previous  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  simple  ideas  of  sensation  may  be  associated  together. 

Case  I.  Let  the  sensation  A  be  often  associated  with  each  of 
the  sensations  5,  C,  D,  &c.  i.e.  at  certain  times  with  B,  at  cer- 
tain other  times  with  C,  &c.  it  is  evident,  from  the  tenth  propo- 
sition, that  A,  impressed  alone,  will,  at  last,  raise  h,  c,  d,  &c.  all 
together,  i.e.  associate  them  with  one  another,  provided  they 
belong  to  different  regions  of  the  medullary  substance;  for  if 
any  two,  or  more,  belong  to  the  same  region,  since  they  cannot 
exist  together  in  their  distinct  forms,  A  will  raise  something 
intermediate  between  them. 

Case  2.  If  the  sensations  A,  B,  C,  D,  &c.  be  associated  to- 
gether, according  to  various  combinations  of  twos,  or  even 
threes,  fours,  &c.  then  will  A  raise  b,  c,  d,  &c.  also  B  raise  a,  c,  d, 
&c.  as  in  case  the  first. 

It  may  happen,  indeed,  in  both  cases,  that  A  may  raise  a  par- 
ticular miniature,  as  b,  preferably  to  any  of  the  rest,  from  its 
being  more  associated  with  B,  from  the  novelty  of  the  impres- 
sion of  B,  from  a  tendency  in  the  medullary  substance  to  favour 
b,  &.C.  and  in  like  manner,  that  b  may  raise  c  or  d  preferably  to 
the  rest.  However,  all  this  will  be  overruled,  at  last,  by  the 
recurrency  of  the  associations;  so  that  any  one  of  the  sensations 
will  excite  the  ideas  of  the  rest  at  the  same  instant,  i.e.  associate 
them  together. 

Case  3.  Let  A,  B,C,  D,  &c.  represent  successive  impressions, 
it  follows  from  the  tenth  and  eleventh  propositions,  that  A  will 
raise  b,  c,  d,  &c.  B  raise  c,  d,  &c.  And  though  the  ideas  do  not, 
in  this  case,  rise  precisely  at  the  same  instant,  yet  they  come 
nearer  together  than  the  sensations  themselves  did  in  their 
original  impression;  so  that  these  ideas  are  associated  almost 


330  DAVID  HARTLEY 

synchronically  at  last,  and  successively  from  the  first.  The 
ideas  come  nearer  to  one  another  than  the  sensations,  on  ac- 
count of  their  diminutive  nature,  by  which  all  that  appertains 
to  them  is  contracted.  And  this  seems  to  be  as  agreeable  to 
observation  as  to  theory. 

Case  4.  All  compound  impressions  -4+5+C+Z),  &c,  after 
sufficient  repetition  leave  compound  miniatures  a+b-hc+d, 
&c.  which  recur  every  now  and  then  from  slight  causes,  as  well 
such  as  depend  on  association,  as  some  which  are  different  from 
it.  Now,  in  these  recurrences  of  compound  miniatures,  the 
parts  are  farther  associated,  and  approach  perpetually  nearer 
to  each  other,  agreeably  to  what  was  just  now  observed;  i.e.  the 
association  becomes  perpetually  more  close  and  intimate. 

Case  5.  When  the  ideas  a,  b,  c,  d,  &c.  have  been  sufficiently 
associated  in  any  one  or  more  of  the  foregoing  ways,  if  we  suf)- 
pose  any  single  idea  of  these,  a  for  instance,  to  be  raised  by  the 
tendency  of  the  medullary  substance  that  way,  by  the  associa- 
tion of  A  with  a  foreign  sensation  or  idea  X  or  x,  &c.  this  idea  a, 
thus  raised,  will  frequently  bring  in  all  the  rest,  b,  c,  d,  &c.  and 
so  associate  all  of  them  together  still  farther. 

And  upon  the  whole,  it  may  appear  to  the  reader,  that  the 
simple  ideas  of  sensation  must  run  into  clusters  and  combina- 
tions, by  associations;  and  that  each  of  these  will,  at  last,  coal- 
esce into  one  complex  idea,  by  the  approach  and  commixture 
of  the  several  compounding  parts. 

It  appears  also  from  observation,  that  many  of  our  intd- 
lectual  ideas,  such  as  those  that  belong  to  the  heads  of  beauty, 
honour,  moral  qualities,  &c.  are,  in  fact,  thus  composed  of 
parts,  which,  by  degrees,  coalesce  into  one  complex  idea. 


CHARLES  BONNET 

(1720-1793) 

ABSTRACT  OF  THE  ANALYTICAL  ESSAY 
UPON  THE  FACULTIES  OF  THE  SOUL 

Translated  from  the  French^  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

I.  The  senses  the  first  source  of  our  ideas 

I  HAVE  set  out  from  a  well  known  and  indubitable  fact,  and 
one  which  no  person  will  venture  to  deny.  It  is  that  one  bom 
blind  can  never  acquire  our  ideas  of  light  and  colors.^  His  soul 
has  however  the  same  faculties  as  ours.  What  then  does  he 
lack  in  order  to  have  these  visual  sensations  ?  —  the  organ 
suitable  to  these  sensations. 

Suppose  the  person  born  blind  were  at  the  same  time  born 
deaf,  and  had  also  from  his  birth  been  deprived  of  the  senses  of 
touch,  taste,  and  smell.  I  ask  what  ideas  his  soul  would  be  able 
to  acquire? 

The  reply  will  possibly  be  made  to  me  as  it  already  has  been, 
that  it  would  have  at  least  the  consciousness  of  its  existence. 
But  how  do  we  acquire  the  consciousness  of  our  own  existence? 
Is  it  not  by  reflecting  upon  our  own  sensations?  Or  at  least  are 
not  our  first  sensations  united  to  that  consciousness,  which 
our  soul  always  has  that  it  is  itself  which  experiences  them? 
And  is  this  consciousness  anything  else  than  that  of  its  exist- 
ence? But  how  could  a  soul  which  has  never  had  a  sensation 
know  that  it  exists? 

It  would  not  be  well  to  admit  here  a  certain  confused  con- 
sciousness of  existence  of  which  we  could  not  form  any  idea.  It 

*  Ch.  Bonnet's  Essai  Analylique  sur  les  facullSs  de  I' ante.  Copenh.  1760. 
Translated  here  from  Bonnet's  Analyse  abrigie  de  l' essai  analylique  (1769),  in 
his  Oeuvres  d'histoire  nalurelle  el  de  philosophie.    Neufchatel,  1779-83,  torn.  xv. 

^  Bonnet's  Essai  analylique  sur  les  facultes  de  I'dme,  517. 


332  CHARLES  BONNET 

is  better  doubtless  to  receive  only  clear  things  and  those  about 
which  one  can  reason.  The  present  thought  cannot  constitute 
the  essence  of  the  soul.  What  would  constitute  it,  at  least 
partly,  would  be  rather  the  capacity  for  thoughts  (cogitabilite) . 

II.  Reflection,  the  second  source  of  our  ideas 

I  HAVE  thus  supposed  as  a  principle  that  all  our  ideas  are 
derived  originally  from  the  senses.  I  have  not  said  that  our 
ideas  are  purely  sensory.  I  have  shown  very  clearly  and  in  great 
detail,  how  reflection  aided  by  the  different  kinds  of  signs  rises 
by  degrees  from  sensations  to  the  most  abstract  conceptions.*  I 
have  sufficiently  investigated  the  theory  of  abstractions,  and 
have  traced  in  general  that  of  ideas.^ 

III.  The  union  of  soul  and  body  and  its  law 

The  objects  themselves  or  the  corpuscles  which  emanate 
from  them  act  upon  the  senses  only  by  impulsion.  They  com- 
municate to  them  a  certain  shock,  which  is  transmitted  to 
the  brain,  and  the  soul  experiences  sensations. 

The  philosopher  does  not  investigate  how  the  movement  of  a 
nerve  causes  an  idea  to  arise  in  the  soul.  He  simply  admits  the 
fact  and  readily  renounces  the  attempt  of  discovering  the  cause. 
He  knows  that  it  springs  from  the  mystery  of  the  union  of  two 
substances,  and  that  this  mystery  is  for  him  inscrutable. 

It  sufiices  for  him  to  know  that  to  the  disturbance  of  this  or 
that  nerve  there  always  corresponds  in  the  soul  this  or  that 
sensation.  He  does  not  regard  the  sensation  as  the  physical 
and  immediate  effect  of  the  movement  of  the  nerve,  but  as  the 
inseparable  sequence  of  that  movement.  He  regards  this  move- 
ment as  in  some  sort  a  natural  sign  of  the  sensation  by  divine 
establishment. 

IV.  Man  a  composite  being 

I  HAVE  not  affirmed  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  soul  to  think 
without  a  body.   There  perhaps  exist  pure  spirits  which  have 
ideas;  but  I  am  profoundly  ignorant  how  they  have  them. 
^  Chaps.  XVI,  XIX,  §  28.       .  ^  .  .  _  ..       *  Chaps,  xiv,  xv,  xvi. 


THE  FACULTIES  OF  THE  SOUL        333 

I  know  only  that  the  feeling  that  I  have  of  my  ego  is  always 
one,  simple,  indivisible;  from  which  I  infer  that  I  am  not 
wholly  material.  I  have  very  much  amplified  this  excellent 
proof.  I  admit  then  the  existence  of  my  soul  as  that  of  an 
immaterial  substance,  which  it  has  pleased  the  Creator  to  unite 
to  an  organised  body.  I  learn  from  the  contemplation  of  my 
being,  that  I  result  from  the  union  of  two  very  different  sub- 
stances. 

In  this  order  of  things  I  perceive  that  I  have  ideas  only  by 
the  intervention  of  my  body,  and  the  more  I  reflect  upon  my- 
self, the  more  I  am  compelled  to  recognise  the  great  influence 
of  the  machine^  upon  all  the  operations  of  my  soul. 

I  learn  also  from  revelation  that  my  soul  will  be  eternally 
joined  to  a  portion  of  matter.  I  shall  therefore  be  eternally  a 
composite  being. 

The  purpose  of  the  author  of  my  being  has  therefore  not  been 
that  I  should  be  a  pure  spirit.  He  has  consequently  willed  that 
my  soul  should  use  its  faculties  only  by  means  of  a  body.  If  he 
had  willed  otherwise  I  should  have  philosophized  differently, 
because  I  should  have  had  another  way  of  perceiving  and 
judging. 

I  have  thus  followed  in  my  researches  upon  the  economy  of 
our  being  the  course  which  has  appeared  to  me  most  to  conform 
to  that  of  nature.  My  soul  has  no  hold  upon  itself;  it  cannot  see 
itself,  and  it  cannot  feel  itself;  but  it  sees,  and  it  feels  bodies,  by 
the  aid  of  the  body  to  which  it  is  united. 

Its  senses  place  it  in  relation  with  everything  about  it; 
through  them  it  is  related  to  all  parts  of  the  universe;  by 
them  it  appropriates  in  some  fashion  all  of  nature,  and  even 
reascends  to  its  divine  author. 

V.  The  objects  of  our  sensations  real 

I  studied  then  the  constitution  of  my  senses,  which  are  the 
universal  instruments  of  the  operations  of  my  soul.  I  gave 
attentive  heed  to  everything  that  takes  place  in  them  when 
objects  happen  to  strike  them.  I  meditated  upon  the  effects  of 

^  The  group  of  organs  which  constitute  the  body  of  man. 


334  CHARLES  BONNET 

those  shocks,  and  upon  the  relationship  that  the  fibres,  which 
are  the  seat  of  them,  sustain  with  one  another,  and  on  the  most 
immediate  consequences  of  these  relationships. 

As  I  was  assured  that  my  soul  experiences  no  modification, 
except  upon  occasion  of  something  which  happens  to  and 
through  its  senses  to  that  part  of  the  brain  which  is  the  imme- 
diate seat  of  feeling  and  of  thought,  I  considered  the  play  and 
modifications  of  the  sensory  fibres  as  a  sort  of  representation  of 
the  corresponding  modifications  of  my  soul. 

It  is  of  very  little  importance  for  my  purpose  that  I  do  not 
err  about  the  existence  of  bodies.  Although  the  whole  material 
system  should  be  only  a  phenomenon,  a  pure  appearance,  rela- 
tive to  my  manner  of  perceiving  and  of  judging,  I  should  none 
the  less  distinguish  my  sensations  from  one  another.  I  would 
not  be  the  less  assured  that  some  are  in  my  power,  and  that 
others  are  not  at  all.  I  would  also  be  none  the  less  certain  that 
there  exists  apart  from  my  soul  something  which  excites  in  it 
sensations  independent  of  its  will.  That  thing,  whatever  it  may 
be,  is  what  I  term  matter. 

I  do  not  affirm  that  matter  is  in  effect  what  it  seems  to  me  to 
be;  but  I  can  reasonably  affirm,  that  what  seems  to  be  results 
essentially,  both  from  that  which  it  is  itself,  as  well  as  from  what 
I  am  by  reference  to  it.  Beings  which  observe  it  under  other 
relationships  than  mine  are  of  a  different  nature  from  mine.  I 
would  see  myself  under  other  relationships,  if  my  nature  hap- 
pened to  change. 

It  would  also  be  wholly  indifferent  to  the  purpose  of  my 
researches  to  discuss  the  different  hypotheses  which  have  been 
made  in  order  to  explain  the  union  of  the  soul  and  of  the  body, 
since  all  such  hypotheses  equally  suppose  a  constant  relation- 
ship between  the  modifications  of  the  soul  and  the  movements 
of  the  body. 

It  was  necessary  then  always  to  devote  one's  attention  to  the 
play  of  the  organs.  It  is  fully  permitted  afterward  to  translate 
every  reasoning  into  the  special  language  of  the  hypothesis 
that  has  been  adopted.  I  have  confined  myself  to  physical  in- 
fluence, not  as  a  fact,  but  as  that  which  seems  to  be. 


THE  FACULTIES  OF  THE  SOUL       335 

VI.  Specific  differences  of  the  sensory  fibres 

Each  sense  has  its  mechanics,  its  manner  of  action,  its  end. 
Each  sense  transmits  to  the  soul  a  multitude  of  different  im- 
pressions to  which  correspond  a  like  number  of  different  sen- 
sations. 

It  was  not  possible  for  me  to  conceive  of  fibres  perfectly- 
similar  being  capable  of  receiving  and  transmitting  without 
confusion  so  many  diverse  impressions.  It  has  seemed  to  me, 
that  each  sensory  fibre  would  in  such  a  case  be  like  a  body 
impelled  at  the  same  time  by  several  forces  acting  in  different 
directions.  This  body  would  thereby  receive  a  composite  m.ove- 
ment  which  would  be  the  product  of  those  forces,  and  which 
would  represent  none  of  those  forces  in  particular. 

In  assuming  this  point  of  view  I  have  not  been  able  to  render 
an  account  to  myself  of  the  difference  in  my  sensations.  I  have, 
therefore,  been  compelled  to  suppose  that  there  is  in  each  sense 
certain  fibres  appropriate  to  each  kind  of  sensation. 

I  believe  that  I  have  discerned  in  the  organisation  of  the 
senses  peculiarities  which  justify  my  supposition,  and  I  have 
indicated  them.^  The  observations  upon  the  difference  of 
refrangability  of  colored  rays,  and  upon  those  of  the  vibrations 
of  strings  of  musical  instruments,  have  appeared  to  me  to  add 
an  additional  degree  of  probability  to  that  conjecture. 

VII.  The  physics  of  reminiscence 

But  my  soul  is  not  limited  to  feeling  through  the  agency  of 
my  senses.  It  has  likewise  recollection  of  that  which  it  has  felt. 
It  has  the  consciousness  of  the  newness  of  a  sensation.  A  sensa- 
tion which  has  been  presented  to  it  many  times  does  not  affect 
it  precisely  as  at  the  first  time. 

It  is  always  through  the  senses  that  objects  come  to  the  soul. 
Those  fibres  which  have  been  shocked  many  times  cannot  be 
precisely  in  the  state  in  which  they  were  before  they  had  been 
disturbed.  The  repeated  action  of  the  object  must  change 
them  in  some  respect. 

If  a  particular  kind  of  sensation  has  been  associated  with  a 
^  Chap.  vui. 


336  CHARLES  BONNET 

special  kind  of  fibre,  the  recollection  of  the  sensation,  or  the 
reminiscence,  may  have  been  associated  with  the  present  state 
of  the  fibre.  I  have  thus  conjectured  that  the  virgin  fibres  do 
not  affect  the  soul  precisely  as  those  do  which  are  not  so,  and  I 
have  attributed  the  feeling  of  novelty  to  that  state  of  virginity 
of  the  sensory  fibres.^ 

By  virtue  of  the  union  of  the  two  substances  nothing  can  take 
place  in  the  soul  without  something  in  the  body  correspond- 
ing to  it.  It  is  this  something  which  I  have  always  sought, 
though  I  do  not  flatter  myself  to  have  always  encountered, 
and  that  very  often  I  have  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  it. 

VIII.  The  action  of  the  soul  upon  the  Senses  indicated  by  the 
nature  and  effects  of  the  attention 

My  soul  has  a  will,  and  exerts  it.  It  has  certain  desires,  and 
is  active.  This  activity,  whatever  may  be  its  nature,  must  have 
a  subject  on  which  it  displays  itself.  It  has  not  been  possible 
for  me  to  discover  for  it  any  other  than  the  sensory  fibres.  I 
have  therefore  thought  that  as  the  senses  act  upon  the  soul,  so 
the  soul  may  act  in  its  turn  upon  the  senses. 

I  have  not  said  that  the  soul  acts  after  the  manner  of  the 
body,  as  it  is  not  body;  but  I  have  said  that  the  effect  of  its 
action  corresponds  to  that  of  a  body.  In  one  word  I  have 
admitted,  that  the  soul  causes  the  sensory  fibres  to  vibrate  at 
its  pleasure,  and  I  have  not  undertaken  to  investigate  the  man- 
ner of  it. 

Divers  facts  have  appeared  to  me  to  establish  that  motive 
power  of  the  soul,  and  in  particular  the  exercise  of  attention. 
When  it  is  too  long  continued,  it  gives  rise  in  the  soul  to  that 
uncomfortable  feeling,  which  we  express  by  the  term  fatigue. 

Strictly  speaking  can  fatigue  have  its  seat  anywhere  else 
than  in  the  organs?  And  is  it  not  the  soul  itself,  which  occasions 
fatigue,  by  an  act  of  its  will?  If  it  did  not  will  to  be  atten- 
tive, it  would  not  experience  any  fatigue.  It  acts,  therefore, 
upon  the  fibres  which  are  the  seat  of  this  fatigue. 

If  the  fatigue  ceases  when  the  soul  changes  its  object,  that  is 
*  Chap.  IX. 


THE  FACULTIES  OF  THE  SOUL        337 

because  it  is  acting  upon  other  fibres.  For  we  have  seen,  that 
it  is  probable,  that  every  object  has  in  the  brain  certain  fibres 
which  are  adapted  to  it. 

It  is  by  the  aid  of  these  principles  that  I,  perhaps  the  first, 
have  attempted  to  analyze  the  nature,  and  the  effects  of  atten- 
tion, and  to  prove  that  it  is  this  valuable  faculty  which  estab- 
lishes the  most  difference  between  one  man  and  another.^ 

Excellent  rules  have  been  given  us  for  directing  and  fixing 
the  attention ;  but  sufficient  investigation  has  not  been  made  of 
the  physical  foundation  of  these  rules.  You  will  never  succeed 
better  in  guiding  man,  than  when  you  set  out  from  the  physical 
constitution.  It  is  always  through  the  physical  that  you  must 
pass  to  reach  the  soul. 

IX.  The  physics  of  the  imagination  and  of  the  memory 

The  ideas  that  objects  excite  in  the  soul  can  be  recalled  by 
it  without  the  intervention  of  objects.  This  reproduction  of 
ideas  is  due  to  imagination,  and  to  memory.  I  have  sought  to 
investigate  how  they  operate,  or  what  is  the  same  thing,  wherein 
consists  the  physics  of  the  imagination,  and  of  the  memory.^ 

The  method,  that  I  have  followed  to  succeed,  has  seemed  to 
me  very  simple  and  sufficiently  luminous.  It  is  the  same  that 
I  have  pursued  in  all  my  psychological  researches.  I  have  at 
first  directed  my  attention  to  what  has  immediately  preceded. 
Before  investigating  how  an  idea  is  reproduced,  I  have  investi- 
gated how  it  was  produced. 

I  have  clearly  seen  that  the  soul  never  has  a  new  sensation, 
except  through  the  medium  of  the  senses.  It  is  to  the  shock  of 
certain  fibres  that  such  sensation  has  been  originally  as- 
sociated. Its  reproduction  or  its  recall  by  imagination  will  still 
be  related  to  the  shock  of  these  same  fibres. 

Accidents,  which  can  effect  only  the  body,  enfeeble  and  even 
destroy  the  imagination  and  the  memory.  They  have  therefore 
their  seat  in  the  body.  And  how  could  this  seat  be  anything  else 
than  the  organs  which  transmit  to  the  soul  all  outer  impressions. 

1  Chaps.  XI,  XIX,  §  628,  530,  533. 

'  Chap.  XIV,  §  212,  213,  214;  chap,  xx,  §  546;  chap,  xxii,  §  623,624. 


338  CHARLES  BONNET 

It  is  therefore  my  belief  that  the  sensory  fibres  are  constituted 
in  such  a  manner,  that  the  action  more  or  less  continued  of  the 
objects  produces  on  them  determinations  more  or  less  durable, 
which  constitute  the  physics  of  memory. 

I  have  never  been  able  to  say  what  these  determinations  are, 
because  the  structure  of  the  sensory  fibres  is  to  me  unknown. 
But  if  sense  has  its  mechanics,  I  have  thought  that  every  kind 
of  sensory  fibre  can  also  have  its  own. 

X.  Important  remarks  upon  the  sensory  fibres 

I  HAVE  thus  regarded  each  sensory  fibre  as  a  very  small 
organ,  which  has  its  own  functions,  or  as  a  very  small  machine, 
which  the  action  of  the  objects  keys  to  the  tone  which  is 
adapted  to  it.  I  have  judged  that  the  play  or  the  conduct  of  the 
fibre  must  result  essentially  from  its  primordial  structure,  and 
this  latter  from  the  nature  and  arrangement  of  the  elements. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  represent  these  elements  as  of  the 
nature  of  simple  bodies.  I  have  regarded  them  as  constituent 
parts  of  a  small  organ,  or  as  the  different  parts  of  a  small 
machine,  designed  to  receive,  to  transmit,  and  to  reproduce  the 
impression  of  the  object  to  which  it  has  been  adapted. 

I  have  therefore  supposed  that  every  kind  of  sensory  fibre 
has  been  originally  patterned  upon  relationships  that  are 
adapted  to  the  manner  of  acting  of  its  object. 

This  supposition  has  not  appeared  to  me  gratuitous.  If  the 
eye  does  not  act  as  the  ear,  it  is  because  its  structure  is  essen- 
tially different,  because  light  does  not  act  like  sound.  The 
fibres  appropriate  to  different  visual  sensations  have  therefore 
probably  another  structure  than  that  of  fibres  adapted  to  per- 
ceptions of  hearing. 

Nay  more:  each  perception  has  its  peculiar  character  which 
makes  us  distinguish  it  from  every  other.  For  example,  every 
colored  ray  has  an  essence  which  is  unchangeable.  A  red  ray 
for  instance  does  not  act  precisely  as  a  blue  ray.  There  are  con- 
sequently still  among  the  fibres  of  vision  certain  differences 
corresponding  to  those  which  exist  among  the  rays. 

I  have  not  simply  admitted  that  the  fibres  of  sight  are  finer 


THE  FACULTIES  OF  THE  SOUL        339 

than  those  of  hearing;  that  the  vibrations  of  one  are  more 
prompt  than  those  of  the  other;  and  that  among  the  fibres  of 
sight  those  which  are  adapted  to  the  action  of  red  rays  are  less 
'fine  than  those  which  are  suited  to  the  action  of  blue  rays.  This 
does  not  appear  to  me  sufficient  to  render  an  account  of  the 
phenomena  of  memory. 

I  have  indeed  surmised  that  oscillations  more  or  less  rapid, 
or  other  analogous  movements,  might  perhaps  suffice  to 
characterize  the  kind  of  sensation.  I  have  not,  however,  under- 
stood that  they  can  at  the  same  time  serve  to  recall  to  the  soul 
the  memory  of  the  sensation.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  since 
this  memory  is  connected  with  the  body,  it  must  depend  upon 
some  change  which  happened  to  the  primitive  state  of  the 
sensory  fibres  through  the  action  of  objects.^ 

I  have,  therefbre,  admitted  as  probable  that  the  state  of  the 
fibres  upon  which  an  object  has  acted,  is  not  precisely  the  same 
after  that  action,  as  it  was  before.  I  have  conjectured  that  the 
sensory  fibres  thus  experience  modifications  more  or  less  dur- 
able, which  constitutes  the  physics  of  recollection,  and  of 
memory. 

I  have  not  undertaken  to  determine  in  what  these  modifica- 
tions consist.  I  know  no  fact  which  could  throw  light  upon  this 
obscure  point.  But  having  regarded  the  sensory  fibres  as  very 
small  organs,  it  has  not  been  difficult  for  me  to  conceive  that 
the  constituent  parts  of  these  organs  may  assume  with  reference 
to  one  another  new  positions,  or  new  relationships,  to  which 
was  attached  the  physics  of  memory. 

This  is  the  result  of  habit,  of  which  so  much  is  said,  which 
has  so  great  an  influence  in  human  life,  and  of  which  I  am  not 
aware  that  anyone  has  well  developed  the  principle.  I  have 
endeavored  to  explain  how  it  is  formed,  rooted,  weakened,  and 
obliterated.^ 

I  have  said  on  that  occasion, "  not  only  does  the  fibre  transmit 
to  the  soul  the  impression  of  the  object,  but  it  recalls  to  it 
furthermore  the  recollection  of  this  impression.   This  remem- 

1  Chap.  VII,  §  57,  58,  59. 

*  Chap.  IX,  p.  96,  97,  etc.;  chap,  xxu,  p.  641,  642,  etc. 


340  CHARLES  BONNET 

brance  differs  from  the  sensation  itself  only  in  the  degree  of  its 
intensity.  It  has  therefore  the  same  origin.  It  depends  then  as 
the  sensation  itself  upon  a  movement  which  is  aroused  in  the 
fibre;  but  on  a  weaker  movement. 

The  carrying  out  of  this  movement  requires  a  certain  dispo- 
sition in  the  integral  parts  of  the  fibre.  The  elements,  therefore, 
retain  during  a  period  of  more  or  less  length,  the  determinations 
which  they  have  received  from  the  action  of  the  object.  It 
keys  up,  so  to  speak,  the  fibre  to  its  own  tone,  and  while  the 
fibre  remains  keyed  up  in  this  way,  it  preserves  the  power  of 
recalling  to  the  soul  the  memory  of  the  sensation  of  the  object." 

I  added  finally:  "It  is  necessary  therefore  to  regard  the 
fibre  as  a  very  small  machine  designed  to  produce  a  certain 
movement.  The  capacity  of  this  small  machine  to  carry  out 
that  movement  depends  originally  upon  its  construction;  and 
that  construction  differentiates  it  from  every  other  machine  of 
the  same  sort.  The  action  of  the  object  makes  this  capacity 
active.  It  is  that  action  which  keys  up  the  machine.  As  soon  as 
it  is  keyed  up  it  plays  at  the  moment  that  some  impulse 
occurs." 

For  the  rest,  the  reader  ought  not  to  have  much  difficulty  in 
understanding,  how  nature  has  been  able  to  vary  suflficiently 
the  structure  of  sensory  fibres  to  provide  for  that  prodigious 
diversity  of  perceptions  which  we  experience.  How  much  human 
art,  so  crude,  so  imperfect,  so  limited,  varies  its  productions  of 
the  same  kind !  How  many  different  forms  has  it  not  been  able 
to  give  to  a  chain !  What  variety  has  it  not  put  among  the  finks 
of  different  chains!  Of  how  many  combinations  are  not  the 
same  elements  susceptible !  And  how  will  it  be  when  we  suppose 
the  elements  have  been  themselves  diversified! 


feTIENNE  BONNOT  DE  CONDILLAG 

(1715-1780) 

TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS 

Translated  from  the  French^  by 
FREDERICK  C.  de  SUMICHRAST 

CHAPTER!.    THE  FIRST  NOTIONS   OF    A   MAN 
POSSESSING  THE  SENSE   OF   SMELL   ONLY 

I.  The  notions  of  our  statue  being  limited  to  the  sense  of 
smell,  can  include  odours  only.  It  cannot  have  any  conception 
of  extent,  of  form,  of  anything  external  to  itself,  or  to  its  sensa- 
tions, any  more  than  it  can  have  of  colour,  sound  or  taste. 

2.  If  we  offer  the  statue  a  rose,  it  will  be,  in  its  relation  to  us, 
a  statue  which  smells  a  rose;  but  in  relation  to  itself,  it  will  be 
merely  the  scent  itself  of  the  flower. 

Therefore,  according  to  the  objects  which  act  upon  its  organ, 
it  will  be  scent  of  rose,  of  carnation,  of  jasmine,  of  violet.  In  a 
word,  odours  are,  in  this  respect,  merely  modifications  of  the 
statue  itself  or  modes  of  being;  and  it  is  not  capable  of  believ- 
ing itself  aught  else,  since  these  are  the  only  sensations  it  can 
feci. 

3.  Let  those  philosophers  to  whom  it  is  so  evident  that  every- 
thing is  material,  put  themselves  for  a  moment  in  the  place  of 
the  statue,  and  let  them  reflect  how  they  could  suspect  that  there 
exists  anything  resembling  what  we  call  matter. 

4.  We  may  then  already  be  convinced  that  it  is  sufficient  to 
increase  or  to  diminish  the  number  of  the  senses  to  cause  us  to 
come  to  conclusions  wholly  different  from  those  which  are  at 
present  so  natural  to  us,  and  our  statue,  limited  to  the  sense  of 
smell,  may  thus  enable  us  to  comprehend  somewhat  the  class 
of  beings  whose  notions  are  the  most  restricted. 

♦  From  Traite  des  Sensations,  Paris  and  London,  1754. 


342  CONDILLAC 

CHAPTER  II.  OF  THE  OPERATIONS  OF  THE 
MIND  IN  A  MAN  LIMITED  TO  THE  SENSE  OF 
SMELL,  AND  OF  THE  FACT  THAT  THE  DIF- 
FERENT DEGREES  OF  PLEASURE  AND  OF  PAIN 
CONSTITUTE  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THESE  OP- 
ERATIONS. 

1.  With  the  first  odour  the  capacity  for  feeling  of  our  statue 
wholly  taken  up  by  the  impression  made  upon  its  organ.    I 

call  this  attention. 

2.  From  that  moment  it  begins  to  enjoy  or  to  sufiFer:  for  if  the 
Sower  of  feeling  is  wholly  devoted  to  a  pleasant  odour,  enjoy- 

ent  is  the  result ;  and  if  it  be  wholly  devoted  to  an  unpleasant 
^odour,  suffering  results. 

3.  But  our  statue  has  yet  no  idea  of  the  different  changes  it 
may  experience.  Therefore  it  is  well;  or  it  is  not  well,  without 
the  desire  to  be  better.  Suffering  is  no  more  capable  of  exciting 
in  the  statue  a  longing  for  an  enjoyment  of  which  it  has  no  know- 
ledge, than  enjoyment  is  capable  of  making  it  fear  an  ill  of  which 
it  is  equally  ignorant.  Consequently,  no  matter  how  disagree- 
able the  first  sensation  may  be,  even  to  the  point  of  wounding 
the  organ  and  of  being  a  violent  pain,  it  cannot  cause  desire. 

While  suffering  with  us  is  always  accompanied  by  the  desire 
not  to  suffer,  it  cannot  be  so  with  the  statue.  Pain  creates  that 
desire  in  us  only  because  the  condition  of  non-suffering  is  al- 
ready knovm  to  us.  The  habit  we  have  contracted  of  looking 
upon  pain  as  a  thing  we  have  been  without  and  of  which  we  may 
be  freed,  is  the  cause  that  the  moment  we  suffer  we  immediately 
desire  not  to  suffer,  anjl.  tlys  conditionJis  insqpajable  fronya 
state  of  suffering.  ( ^'-^^^^^^'^^         J 

But  the  statue  which,  at  the  first  moment,  is  conscious  of  its 
feeling  only  through  the  very  pain  it  experiences,  does  not  know 
whether  it  can  cease  to  be  a  statue  and  become  something 
else,  or  cease  to  exist.  It  has,  as  yet,  no  conception  of  change, 
of  succession  or  of  duration.  Therefore  it  exists  without  having 
the  power  to  form  a  desire. 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  343 

4.  Once  it  has  observed  that  it  is  capable  of  ceasing  to  be 
what  it  is,  in  order  to  become  once  more  what  it  was  before,  we 
shall  see  its  desires  spring  from  a  condition  of  pain,  which  it 
will  compare  with  a  condition  of  pleasure  recalled  to  it  by  mem- 
ory. Thus  it  is  that  pleasure  and  pain  are  the  sole  principle 
which,  determining  all  the  operations  of  its  soul,  will  gradually 
raise  it  to  all  the  knowledge  of  which  it  is  capable;  and  in  order 
to  determine  the  progress  of  which  it  is  susceptible,  it  will  suffice 
to  observe  the  pleasure  it  will  have  to  desire,  the  pains  it  will 
have  to  fear,  and  the  influence  of  either  according  to  circum- 
stances. 

5.  Supposing  the  statue  to  have  no  remembrance  of  the 
changes  it  has  undergone,  then  on  every  occasion  of  a  change 
it  would  believe  itself  to  be  conscious  of  sensation  for  the  first 
time:  whole  years  would  be  swallowed  up  in  each  present  mo- 
ment. Therefore  by  ever  confining  its  attention  to  a  single  mode 
of  being,  it  would  never  reckon  two  together,  and  would  never 
note  their  relations  to  each  other:  it  would  enjoy  or  suffer,  with- 
out yet  knowing  desire  or  fear. 

6.  But  the  odour  it  smells  does  not,  so  soon  as  the  odoriferous 
object  ceases  to  act  upon  its  organ,  become  wholly  lost  to  the 
statue.  The  attention  it  bestowed  upon  it  still  retains  the  odour, 
and  there  remains  a  more  or  less  strong  impression  of  that  odour 
in  proportion  as  the  attention  itself  has  been  more  or  less  active. 
That  is  memory.  LkJNjtri^ 

7.  When,  therefore,  our  statue  i&a  new  odour,  there  is  still } 
present  to  it  the  odour  that  it  was  the  moment  before.  Its  power  ^ 
of  feeling  is  divided  between  memory  and  the  sense  of  smell, 
the  former  of  these  faculties  being  attentive  to  the  past  sensation, >*" 
while  the  latter  is  attentive  to  the  present  sensation. 

8.  Thus  there  are  in  the  statue  two  modes  of  feeling,  differ-  ^ 
ing  only  in  this,  that  the  one  is  concerned  with  a  present  sensa- 
tion and  the  other  with  a  sensation  no  longer  existent,  but  the 
impression  of  which  still  remains.  Unaware  of  the  fact  that  there 
are  objects  which  act  upon  it,  unaware  even  of  the  fact  that  it 
possesses  an  organ,  the  statue  ordinarily  distinguishes  between 
the  remembrance  of  a  sensation  and  a  present  sensation  merely 


344  CONDILLAC 

by  dimly  feeling  what  it  has  been  and  feeling  strongly  what  it  is 
at  the  moment. 

9.  I  say  ordinarily,  because  remembrance  will  not  always  be 
a  faint  sentiment,  nor  sensation  a  lively  one.  For  every  time 
that  memory  recalls  very  strongly  these  states  of  being,  while, 
on  the  contrary,  the  organ  itself  receives  but  slight  impressions, 
the  consciousness  of  a  present  sensation  will  be  much  less  vivid 
than  the  remembrance  of  a  sensation  which  has  ceased  to  be. 

10.  As,  therefore,  one  odour  is  present  to  the  sense  of  smell 
through  the  impression  made  by  an  odoriferous  body  upon  the 
organ  itself,  so  is  another  odour  present  in  the  memory,  because 
the  impression  made  by  another  odoriferous  body  continues  in 
the  brain,  to  which  the  organ  of  smell  has  transmitted  it.  Pass- 
ing thus  through  two  states  of  being,  the  statue  feels  that  it  is 
no  longer  what  it  has  been :  the  knowledge  of  this  change  causes 
it  to  refer  the  first  state  to  a  different  moment  from  that  in  which 
it  experiences  the  second  state,  and  this  it  is  which  causes  the 
statue  to  make  a  distinction  between  existing  in  one  way  and 
having  existed  in  another  way. 

11.  The  statue  is  active  in  relation  to  one  of  its  two  modes  of 
feeling,  and  passive  in  relation  to  the  other.  It  is  active  when  it 
remembers  a  sensation,  because  it  has  within  itself  the  cause 
which  brings  about  that  recollection,  that  is  memory.  It  is 
passive  at  the  moment  vihm  it  experiences  a  sensation,  because 
the  cause  which  produces  it  is  external  to  the  statue  itself,  that 
is,  it  lies  in  the  odoriferous  bodies  which  act  upon  its  sense  of 
smell. 

12.  But,  unable  even  to  suspect  the  action  upon  itself  of  ob- 
jects external  to  it,  it  cannot  distinguish  between  a  cause  within 
itself  and  a  cause  outside  of  itself.  As  far  as  the  statue  is  con- 
cerned all  the  modifications  of  its  state  of  being  appear  to  it  due 
to  itself,  and  whether  it  experiences  a  sensation  or  merely  recalls 
one,  it  is  never  aware  of  aught  save  that  it  is  or  has  been  in  such 
and  such  a  state  of  being.  It  cannot,  therefore,  observe  any 
difference  between  the  condition  in  which  it  is  itself  active  or 
that  in  which  it  is  wholly  passive. 

13.  Nevertheless  the  more  numerous  the  occasions  for  the 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  345 

exercise  of  the  memory  the  more  readily  will  the  memory  act. 
And  it  is  in  this  way  that  the  statue  will  acquire  the  habit  of  re- 
calling without  an  effort  the  changes  through  which  it  has  passed, 
and  of  dividing  its  attention  between  what  it  has  been  and  what 
it  is.  For  habit  is  merely  the  facility  of  repeating  what  one  has 
done,  and  that  facility  is  acquired  by  the  reiteration  of  the  ac- 
tions. 

14.  If,  after  having  repeatedly  smelled  a  rose  and  a  carnation, 
the  statue  once  more  smells  a  rose,  the  passive  attention,  acting 
by  the  sense  of  smell,  will  be  wholly  given  up  to  the  present  odour 
of  the  rose,  and  the  active  attention,  which  acts  through  the 
memory,  will  be  divided  between  the  remains  of  the  scents  of 
the  rose  and  of  the  carnation.  Now  these  two  states  of  being 
cannot  share  the  capacity  for  feeling  without  comparing  them- 
selves one  with  the  other,  for  comparing  is  nothing  else  than 
bestowing  one's  attention  upon  two  ideas  at  4h€-same4ime-.  oJbte.vs^"»Xwj 

15.  From  the  moment  that  comparison  exists,  judgment  exists.  \ 
Our  statue  cannot  at  one  and  the  same  time  be  attentive  to  the 
scent  of  the  rose  and  that  of  the  carnation,  without  perceiving 

that  the  one  is  not  the  same  as  the  other,  and  it  cannot  be  atten- 
tive to  the  odour  of  a  rose  which  it  smells  and  to  that  of  a  rose 
\^'hich  it  has  previously  smelled  without  perceiving  that  they  are  a 
similar  modification.  Judgment,  therefore,  is  simply  the  percep- 
tion of  the  relation  between  two  ideas  which  are  being  compared. 

16.  As  the  comparisons  and  conclusions  become  more  fre- 
quent the  statue  acquires  greater  facility  in  making  them.  It 
contracts  theiefore  the  habit  of  comparing  and  judging.  Con- 
sequently it  will  be  sufficient  to  make  it  smell  other  odours  in 
order  to  cause  it  to  make  additional  comparisons,  come  to  ad- 
ditional conclusions  and  contract  new  habits. 

17.  The  first  sensation  it  experiences  causes  no  surprise  to 
the  statue,  for  it  is  as  yet  unaccustomed  to  form  any  kind  of 
judgment,  nor  is  it  surprised  when,  on  smelling  successively 
different  odours,  it  perceives  each  but  for  a  moment.  Under 
these  conditions  it  does  not  abide  by  any  conclusion  it  has  formed, 
and  the  more  the  statue  changes  the  more  it  feels  itself  naturally 
inclined  to  change. 


346  CONDILLAC 

Nor  will  it  feel  any  more  surprise  if  we  lead  it,  by  imnotice- 
able  gradations,  from  the  habit  of  believing  itself  one  odour  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  is  another  odour,  for  the  statue  changes 
without  having  the  power  of  noticing  the  change. 

But  it  cannot  fail  to  be  surprised  if  it  passes  suddenly  from  a 
condition  to  which  it  was  accustomed  to  a  totally  different  state 
of  which  it  had  no  previous  conception. 

1 8.  This  amazement  causes  it  to  feel  more  distinctly  the  differ- 
ences between  its  modes  of  being.  The  more  abrupt  the  change 
from  one  to  the  other  the  greater  the  astonishment  of  the  statue, 
and  the  more  is  it  struck  by  the  contrast  between  the  pleasures 
and  the  pains  which  mark  these  changes.  Its  attention,  excited 
by  pains  which  are  more  keenly  felt,  applies  itself  with  greater 
acuteness  to  the  sensations  which  succeed  each  other.  It  there- 
fore compares  them  more  carefully;  it  judges  more  accurately 
their  relations  to  each  other.  Amazement  consequently  increases 
the  activity  of  the  operations  of  its  mind.  But,  because  it  is 
by  bringing  out  a  more  marked  opposition  between  feelings  of 
pleasure  and  feelings  of  pain  that  amazement  thus  increases 
activity  of  mind,  it  follows  that  it  is  always  pleasure  artd  pain 
which  are  the  primary  motive  cause  of  its  faculties. 

19.  If  each  successive  odour  acts  with  equal  force  upon  the 
statue's  attention,  the  memory  will  remember  them  in  the  order 
in  which  they  followed  each  other,  and  they  will  by  this  means 
become  connected  one  with  another. 

If  the  series  is  numerous,  the  impression  made  by  the  most 
recent  odours,  being  the  most  recent,  will  be  the  jtrongest;  the 
impression  made  by  the  first  in  order  will  be  imperceptibly 
weakened,  then  disappear  altogether,  and  these  sensations  will 
be  as  if  they  had  never  been. 

But  if  there  be  any  which  have  acted  but  slightly  upon  the 
attention,  they  will  leave  no  impression  behind  them  and  will 
be  forgotten  as  soon  as  they  have  been  perceived. 

Finally  the  impressions  which  will  have  more  vividly  struck 
the  attention,  will  be  more  vividly  recalled,  and  will  so  strongly 
engage  it  that  they  will  be  capable  of  making  it  forget  the  others. 

20.  Memory  therefore  is  a  series  of  ideas  forming  a  sort  of 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  347 

chain.  It  is  this  connection  which  enables  us  to  pass  from  one 
idea  to  another,  and  to  recall  the  most  distant.  Therefore  we 
remember  an  idea  that  we  had  some  time  since  only  because 
we  recall,  more  or  less  rapidly,  the  intermediary  ideas. 

21.  In  the  case  of  the  second  sensation  our  statue  experiences, 
it  has  not  to  make  any  selection:  it  can  remember  but  the  first 
sensation.  It  will  merely  act  more  or  less  vigorously,  according 
as  it  is  inclined  thereto  by  the  intensity  of  the  pleasure  or  the 
pain. 

But  when  there  has  been  a  succession  of  changes,  the  statue, 
having  a  great  number  in  remembrance,  will  be  inclined  to  re- 
call preferably  those  which  can  best  contribute  to  its  happiness, 
passing  rapidly  over  the  others  or  dwelling  on  them  only  in  spite 
of  itself. 

To  make  this  truth  fully  plain  it  is  necessary  to  know  the 
different  degrees  of  pain  and  of  pleasure  of  which  we  are  suscep- 
tible, and  the  comparisons  which  may  be  drawn  between  them. 

22.  Pleasures  and  pains  are  of  two  kinds.  Some  pertain  more 
especially  to  the  body:  they  are  of  the  senses;  others  are  within 
the  memory  and  all  the  faculties  of  the  soul :  these  are  intellectual 
or  spiritual.  But  this  is  a  difference  which  the  statue  is  incapable 
of  observing. 

This  inability  preserves  it  from  an  error  which  we  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  avoid,  seeing  that  these  sentiments  do  not  differ  one  from 
another  as  greatly  as  we  imagine.  In  truth,  they  are  all  intellect- 
ual and  spiritual,  since  it  is  the  soul  only  which  is  capable  of 
feeling.  It  may  be  said  also  that  they  are  all  likewise  in  a  certain 
sense  sensible  or  corporeal,  since  the  body  is  their  sole  occasion- 
ing cause.  It  is  only  with  reference  to  their  relation  to  the  facul- 
ties of  the  body  or  those  of  the  soul  that  we  divide  them  into  two 
kinds. 

23.  Pleasure  may  diminish  or  increase  by  degrees;  when  it 
diminishes,  it  tends  to  disappear,  and  it  vanishes  with  the  sensa- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  when  it  increases,  it  may  attain  to  pain, 
because  the  impression  becomes  too  strong  for  the  organ.  Thus 
there  are  two  extreme  points  in  pleasure:  the  weaker  is  that  in 
which  sensation  begins  with  the  least  power;  it  is  the  first  step 


348  CONDILLAC 

from  nothingness  to  feeling;  the  strongest  is  that  when  the  sen- 
sation cannot  augment  without  ceasing  to  be  agreeable;  it  is  the 
condition  nearest  to  pain. 

The  impression  of  a  faint  pleasure  seems  to  become  concen- 
trated in  the  organ  which  transmits  it  to  the  soul.  But  when  it 
has  a  certain  amount  of  intensity,  it  is  accompanied  by  an  emo- 
tion which  spreads  throughout  the  whole  body.  This  emotion  is 
a  fact  which  our  experience  places  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

Pain,  likewise,  may  increase  or  diminish.  When  it  increases 
it  tends  to  the  total  destruction  of  the  animal;  but,  when  it  dimin- 
ishes, it  does  not,  like  pleasure,  tend  to  the  privation  of  all  sense 
of  feeling;  on  the  contrary,  the  moment  which  puts  an  end  to  it 
is  always  pleasant. 

24.  It  is  impossible  to  discover  among  these  various  degrees 
a  state  of  indifference;  with  the  first  sensation,  no  matter  how 
weak  it  may  be,  the  statue  is  necessarily  ill  or  well.  But  once  it 
shall  have  experienced  successively  the  sharpest  pains  and  the 
liveliest  pleasures,  it  will  consider  indifferent,  or  will  cease  to 
regard  as  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  the  weaker  sensations  which 
it  will  have  compared  with  the  stronger. 

We  may  therefore  suppose  that  there  are  for  it  divers  degrees, 
agreeable  or  disagreeable,  in  the  modes  of  being,  and  others 
which  it  regards  as  indifferent. 

25.  Whenever  it  is  ill  or  less  well,  it  recalls  its  past  sensations, 
compares  them  wMth  its  actual  condition,  and  feels  that  it  is 
important  that  it  should  become  once  more  what  it  was  formerly. 
Hence  springs  the  need  or  knowledge  of  a  state  of  well-being, 
which  it  concludes  that  it  needs  to  enjoy. 

Therefore  it  knows  that  it  has  wants  only  because  it  compares 
the  pain  from  which  it  is  suffering  with  the  pleasures  it  has  en- 
joyed. Destroy  in  it  the  remembrance  of  these  pleasures,  and 
the  statue  will  be  ill,  without  suspecting  that  it  has  any  want, 
for,  in  order  to  feel  the  need  of  anything,  one  must  be  acquainted 
with  it.  Now,  in  the  above  supposititious  case,  the  statue  is  not 
acquainted  with  any  other  state  of  being  than  that  in  which  it 
finds  itself.  But  once  it  recalls  a  happier  state,  its  existing  con- 
dition at  once  causes  it  to  feel  the  want  of  that  state.  Thus  it  is 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  349 

that  pleasure  and  pain  will  always  determine  the  action  of  its 
faculties. 

26.  The  want  experienced  by  the  statue  may  be  caused  by  a 
genuine  pain,  by  a  disagreeable  sensation,  by  a  sensation  less 
agreeable  than  those  which  have  preceded  it,  or,  finally,  by  a 
state  of  languor,  in  which  it  is  reduced  to  one  of  those  states  of 
being  which  it  has  become  accustomed  to  consider  indifiFerent. 

If  its  need  is  caused  by  an  odour  which  gives  it  lively  pain,  the 
need  appropriates  the  power  of  feeling  almost  wholly,  and  leaves 
only  strength  enough  to  the  memory  to  remind  the  statue  that  it 
has  not  always  been  so  ill.  Then  it  becomes  incapable  of  compar- 
ing the  various  states  of  being  through  which  it  has  passed ;  it  is 
unable  to  judge  which  is  the  most  agreeable.  All  that  it  desires 
is  to  emerge  from  that  condition  in  order  to  enjoy  another,  no 
matter  what  it  may  be ;  and  if  it  were  acquainted  with  a  means 
of  escaping  from  its  suffering,  it  would  apply  all  its  faculties  to 
the  making  use  of  that  means.  It  is  thus  that  in  serious  sickness 
we  cease  to  desire  the  pleasures  we  formerly  ardently  sought,  and 
think  only  of  regaining  our  health. 

When  it  is  a  less  agreeable  sensation  which  gives  rise  to  the 
want,  there  are  two  cases  to  be  distinguished:  either  the  plea- 
sures with  which  the  statue  compares  that  sensation  have  been 
lively,  and  accompanied  by  the  strongest  emotions,  or  else  they 
have  been  less  powerful  and  have  scarcely  moved  it. 

In  the  former  case,  the  past  happiness  is  recalled  with  the 
greater  force  the  more  it  differs  from  the  immediate  sensation. 
The  emotion  which  accompanied  it  is  partly  reproduced,  and 
drawing  to  itself  almost  the  totality  of  the  power  of  feeling,  does 
not  permit  the  agreeable  feelings  which  have  preceded  or  fol- 
lowed it  to  be  noticed.  The  statue,  then,  experiencing  no  dis- 
traction, compares  more  accurately  that  happiness  with  its  pre- 
sent state;  it  judges  more  truly  how  greatly  that  state  differs 
from  the  former,  and,  as  it  endeavours  to  depict  it  to  itself  in 
the  most  vivid  manner,  the  privation  of  that  happiness  gives  rise 
to  a  more  insistent  need,  and  the  possession  of  it  becomes  a 
much  more  necessary  welfare. 

In  the  second  case,  on  the  contrary,  that  state  of  happiness 


'kfi 


350  CONDILLAC 

is  recalled  with  much  less  intensity;  other  pleasures  divide  the 
attention;  the  advantages  it  offers  are  less  felt;  it  reproduces  but 
little  emotion  or  none  at  all.  Therefore  the  statue  is  less  inter- 
ested in  its  return,  and  does  not  apply  its  faculties  to  it  so  ear- 
nestly. 

Finally,  if  the  need  springs  from  one  of  those  sensations  which 

it  has  got  into  the  habit  of  considering  indifferent,  it  lives  at  first 

\^    without  feeling  either  pain  or  pleasure.  But  this  state,  compared 

^A    •J(^     with  the  happy  situations  in  which  it  has  found  itself,  soon 
A    ^f\^  becomes  disagreeable  to  the  statue,  and  the  pain  it  then  expe- 

•/^^  tT  '    riences  is  what  we  term  ennui.   Meanwhile  the  ennui  lasts,  in- 
^creases,  becomes  unbearable,  and  determines  powerfully  all  the 
'acuities  towards  that  happiness  of  which  the  statue  feels  the 
loss. 

This  ennui  may  be  as  crushing  as  pain,  in  which  case  the  statue 
has  no  other  thought  than  to  get  rid  of  it,  and  turns,  without 
selecting,  to  all  the  conditions  of  being  which  are  fitted  to  cause 
it  to  disappear.  But  if  we  diminish  the  burden  of  ennui  the 
condition  of  the  statue  will  be  less  unhappy,  it  will  feel  less  im- 
periously the  need  of  being  rid  of  it,  it  will  be  in  a  condition  to 
devote  its  attention  to  all  the  agreeable  sentiments  of  which  it 
has  any  recollection,  and  it  is  the  pleasure,  the  remembrance  of 
which  it  recalls  in  the  liveliest  manner,  which  will  draw  all  the 
faculties  to  itself. 

27.  There  are  then  two  principles  which  determine  the  degree 
of  action  of  its  faculties:  on  the  one  hand,  the  lively  remembrance 
of  a  well-being  it  has  lost ;  on  the  other,  the  small  amount  of  plea- 
sure in  the  sensation  actually  felt,  or  else  the  pain  by  which  it  is 
accompanied. 

When  these  two  principles  unite,  the  statue  makes  a  greater 
effort  to  recall  what  it  has  ceased  to  be,  and  it  feels  less  what  it 
actually  is.  For  its  power  of  feeling  being  necessarily  limited, 
memory  cannot  attract  a  part  of  this  power  to  itself  without 
leaving  less  to  the  sense  of  smell.  Even  if  the  action  of  this  faculty 
should  be  so  strong  as  to  appropriate  to  itself  the  whole  power 
of  feeling,  the  statue  will  not  observe  any  more  the  impression 
made  upon  its  organ,  and  it  will  recall  its  former  condition  in  so 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  35 1> 

lively  a  manner  that  it  will  believe  it-self  fn  he  f=^\\]]  in  t^gf  rn,iipi(/^ 
dition^  7^ 

28.  But  if  its  actual  condition  is  the  happiest  it  knows,  then 
pleasure  induces  it  to  enjoy  it  by  preference.  There  no  longer 
exists  any  cause  capable  of  inducing  the  mind  to  act  strongly 
enough  to  overbear  the  sense  of  smell  to  the  extent  of  destroying 
the  feeling  in  it.  Pleasure,  on  the  contrary,  concentrates  at  least 
the  greater  part  of  the  attention  or  of  the  capacity  for  feeling 
upon  the  present  sensation;  and  if  the  statue  even  yet  recalls 
what  it  has  been,  it  is  because  the  comparison  with  its  present 
State  causes  it  to  enjoy  its  happiness  still  more. 

29.  Here  then  are  two  of  the  effects  of  memory:  the  one  is  a 
sensation  which  is  recalled  as  strongly  as  if  it  were  acting  upon 
the  organ  itself;  the  other  is  a  sensation  of  which  naught  remains 
but  a  faint  recollection. 

There  are  thus  in  the  action  of  this  faculty  of  memory  two 
degrees  which  we  can  establish:  the  weaker  is  that  in  which  it 
causes  pleasure  in  the  past  to  but  a  slight  extent ;  the  other  that 
in  which  it  causes  enjoyment  of  that  past  just  as  if  the  past 
were  the  present. 

It  is  called  memory  when  it  recalls  things  as  past  only,  and  it 
is  called  imagination  when  it  recalls  them  so  strongly  that  they 
appear  to  be  present.  Imagination,  therefore,  is  found  in  our 
statue,  as  well  as  memory,  and  these  two  faculties  differ  in  degree 
only.  Memory  is  the  beginning  of  an  imagination  which  is  yet 
still  weak;  imagination  is  memory  itself,  which  has  attained  the 
fullest  power  of  which  it  is  susceptible. 

Having  distinguished  two  forms  of  attention  in  the  statue, 
the  one  acting  through  the  sense  of  smell,  the  other  through  the 
memory,  we  may  now  note  a  third,  which  acts  through  the  im- 
agination, and  the  peculiarity  of  which  is  to  stay  the  impressions 
of  the  senses  in  order  to  substitute  in  their  place  a  feeling  mde- 
pendent  of  external  objects. 

30.  Nevertheless  when  the  statue  imagines  a  sensation  which 
it  no  longer  is  experiencing,  and  when  it  recalls  it  in  as  lively  a 
manner  as  if  it  were  still  experiencing  it,  it  is  not  aware  that  there 
exists  in  itself  a  cause  which  produces  the  same  effect  as  would 


li 


352  CONDILLAC 

be  produced  by  an  odoriferous  body  acting  upon  its  organ  of 
smell.  It  cannot  therefore  distinguish,  as  we  do,  between  im- 
agination arid  feeling. 

31.  But  we  may  presume  that  the  imagination  of  the  statue 
will  be  more  active  than  is  our  own.  Its  power  of  feeling  is  wholly 
concentrated  on  a  single  kind  of  sensation;  the  whole  force  of 
its  faculties  is  devoted  solely  to  odours;  nothing  can  distract 
it.  But  we  are  divided  between  a  multitude  of  sensations  and 
ideas,  which  are  constantly  assailing  us,  and,  devoting  to  our 
imagination  but  a  part  of  our  powers,  we  imagine  but  feebly. 
Besides,  our  senses,  continually  on  their  guard  against  our  im- 
agination, warn  us  constantly  of  the  objects  wc  seek  to  imagine, 
while,  on  the  contrary,  the  imagination  of  our  statue  is  entirely 
free  to  act.  Therefore  it  recalls  trustingly  an  odour  which  it  has 
enjoyed,  and  it  does  actually  enjoy  it,  just  as  if  its  sense  of  smell 
were  affected  by  it.  Finally  the  ease  with  which  we  can  put  aside 
things  offensive  to  us,  and  seek  those  the  enjoyment  of  which  || 
we  prize,  further  contributes  to  render  our  imagination  lazy. " 
But  since  our  statue  can  escape  from  a  disagreeable  feeling 
only  by  imagining  strongly  a  condition  of  being  in  which  it  takes 
pleasure,  its  imagination  is  more  exercised  by  it,  and  must  pro- 
duce effects  out  of  the  power  of  our  own  to  attain. 

32.  Yet  there  is  one  case  in  which  the  action  of  the  statue's 
imagination  is  wholly  suspended,  and  even  also  that  of  memory. 
It  is  when  a  sensation  is  so  vivid  as  to  fulfil  completely  the  power 
of  feeling.  Then  the  statue  iswhoUy  passive.  Pleasure  becomes 
for  it  a  species  of  intoxication,  in  which  there  is  scarcely  any 
enjoyment,  and  pain  a  crushing  in  which  it  scarcely  suffers. 

;^;^.  But  the  moment  the  sensation  loses  some  degrees  of  its 
intensity,  forthwith  the  faculties  of  the  soul  become  active  once 
more,  and  need  becomes  once  again  the  cause  which  determines 
their  action. 

34.  The  modifications  which  must  give  the  greatest  pleasure 
to  the  statue  are  not  always  those  it  has  most  recently  expe- 
rienced. They  may  occur  in  the  beginning  or  in  the  middle  of 
the  chain  of  its  knowledge,  or  at  the  end.  Imagination,  there- 
fore, is  frequently  compelled  to  pass  rapidly  over  intermediate 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  353 

ideas.  It  brings  nearer  the  more  distant,  changes  the  order  they 
were  in  in  the  memory,  and  out  of  them  forms  an  entirely  new 
chain. 

The  connection  of  ideas  does  not  then  follow  the  same  order 
in  its  faculties.  The  more  that  order  it  derives  from  the  imagi- 
nation becomes  familiar  to  the  statue,  the  less  will  it  preserve 
that  order  which  memory  has  furnished  it  with.  Thus  ideas  are 
connected  in  innumerable_d[fferent  ways,  and  often  the  statue 
will  recall  less  the  order  in  which  it  experienced  its  sensations 
than  the  order  in  which  it  has  imagined  them  to  be. 

35.  All  these  series,  however,  are  formed  only  through  the 
comparisons  which  have  been  made  between  each  preceding 
and  each  succeeding  link  in  the  chain,  and  through  the  conclu- 
sions which  have  been  drawn  concerning  their  relation  to  each 
other.  This  connection  becomes  stronger  in  proportion  as  the 
use  of  the  faculties  strengthens  the  habits  of  recollection  and 
imagination;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  we  possess  the  surpris- 
ing advantage  of  recognizing  sensations  we  have  already  expe- 
rienced. 

36.  For,  indeed,  if  we  cause  our  statue  to  smell  an  odour  with 
which  it  is  familiar,  it  is  a  state  of  being  which  it  has  compared, 
which  it  has  drawn  a  conclusion,  from,  and  which  it  has  linked 
to  some  of  the  parts  of  the  series  which  its  memory  is  in  the  habit 
of  reviewing.  That  is  why  it  concludes  that  the  state  in  which 
it  finds  itself  is  the  same  as  that  in  which  it  formerly  found  itself. 
But  an  odour  which  it  has  not  yet  smelled  does  not  come  within 
this  case,  and  therefore  must  strike  it  as  quite  new. 

37.  It  is  needless  to  point  out  that  when  it  recognizes  a  state 
of  being  it  does  so  without  being  able  to  account  for  the  fact. 
The  cause  of  a  phenomenon  of  this  sort  is  so  difficult  to  make 
out  that  all  men  who  do  not  know  how  to  observe  and  analyze 
what  is  going  on  within  them,  are  unable  to  perceive  it. 

38.  But  when  the  statue  goes  on  a  long  time  without  thinking 
of  a  state  of  being,  what  becomes,  during  that  period,  of  the  idea 
it  has  formed  of  that  state?  When,  later,  that  idea  is  recalled 
by  the  memory,  whence  does  it  spring  ?  Is  it  in  the  soul  or  in  the 
body  that  it  has  been  preserved  ?  In  neither. 


354  CONDILLAC 

It  is  not  in  the  soul,  since  an  alteration  in  the  brain  is  sufficient 
to  destroy  the  power  of  recalling  the  idea. 

It  is  not  in  the  body.  The  physical  cause  alone  could  be  pre- 
served there,  and  for  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  suppose  that 
the  brain  would  remain  precisely  in  the  condition  into  which  it 
was  brought  by  the  sensation  which  the  statue  remembers.  But 
how  can  that  supposition  be  maintained  in  view  of  the  con- 
tinual movements  of  the  mind?  How  can  it  be  maintained, 
especially  when  one  considers  the  innumerable  ideas  stored  in 
the  memory?  The  phenomenon  may  be  explained  in  a  much 
simpler  way. 

I  experience  a  given  sensation  when  there  occurs  in  one  of  my 
organs  a  movement  which  is  transmitted  to  the  brain.  If  the 
same  movement  originates  in  the  brain  and  is  transmitted  to  the 
organ,  I  believe  I  experience  a  sensation  which  I  do  not  really 
experience:  it  is  an  illusion.  But  if  the  movement  begins  and 
<nds  in  the  brain,  I  remember  the  sensation  I  have  experienced^ 

When  the  statue  recalls  an  idea,  then,  it  is  not  because  the 
idea  has  been  preserved  in  the  body  or  in  the  soul ;  it  is  because 
the  movement,  which  is  the  physical  and  occasioning  cause  of 
it,  is  reproduced  in  the  brain.  This,  however,  is  not  the  place  to 
venture  on  conjectures  concerning  the  mechanism  of  memory. 
We  preserve  the  remembrance  of  our  sensations,  we  recall  them, 
although  we  have  been  a  long  time  without  thinking  of  them. 
To  bring  this  about  it  is  sufficient  that  they  should  have  strongly 
impressed  themselves  upon  us,  or  that  we  should  have  expe- 
rienced them  repeatedly.  These  facts  authorize  me  to  suppose 
that  our  statue,  organized  as  we  are,  is,  like  ourselves,  able  to 
remember. 

39.  We  conclude  then  that  it  has  contracted  several  habits: 
the  habit  of  bestowing  its  attention;  the  habit  of  remember- 
ing; a  third  habit  of  comparing;  a  fourth  of  judging;  a  fifth  of 
imagining;  and  finally  one  of  recognizing. 

40.  The  same  causes  which  have  produced  habits  are  alone 
capable  of  maintaining  them.  I  mean  that  habits  will  become 
lost  unless  they  are  renewed  by  actions  reiterated  from  time  to 
time.  In  that  case  our  statue  will  re.call  neither  the  comparisons 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  355 

between  states  of  being  which  it  has  made,  nor  the  conclusions 
it  has  drawn  from  them,  and  it  will  experience  a  state  of  being 
for  the  third  or  fourth  time  without  being  able  to  recognize  it. 

41.  But  we  may  ourselves  help  to  maintain  the  practice  of  its 
memory  and  of  all  its  faculties.  It  is  sufficient  to  induce  it,  by 
different  degrees  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  to  cling  to  its  state  of 
being  or  to  escape  from  it.  The  skill  with  which  we  make  use  of 
its  sensations  will  enable  us  to  fortify  and  extend  more  and  more 
its  habits.  There  is  even  ground  for  conjecturing  that  the  statue 
will  distinguish,  in  a  succession  of  odours,  differences  which  we 
fail  to  note.  Compelled  to  apply  all  its  faculties  to  a  single  sort 
of  sensation,  may  not  the  statue  exhibit  more  discernment  therein 
than  we  do? 

42.  Yet  the  relations  which  its  judgment  can  discover  are 
very  few  in  number.  It  merely  is  aware  that  one  state  of  being 
is  the  same  as  a  state  in  which  it  has  already  been,  or  else  that  it 
is  different;  that  the  one  is  agreeable,  the  other  disagreeable, 
and  both  in  a  greater  or  less  degree. 

But  will  it  distinguish  between  several  odours  smelled  to- 
gether? That  is  a  power  of  discernment  which  we  ourselves 
acquire  only  by  long  practice,  and  even  then  within  very  narrow 
limits,  for  there  is  no  one  who  can  recognize  by  the  sense  of 
smell  all  the  components  of  a  sachet.  Now  it  seems  to  me  that 
any  mingling  of  odours  must  be  a  sachet  to  our  statue. 

It  is  the  knowledge  of  odoriferous  bodies,  as  we  shall  see  later, 
which  has  taught  us  to  recognize  two  odours  within  a  third. 
After  having  smelled  in  turn  a  rose  and  a  jonquil,  we  smelled 
them  together,  and  thus  learned  that  the  Sensation  caused  in 
us  by  these  two  flowers  together  is  composed  of  two  other  sen- 
sations. But  if  the  odours  be  multiplied  we  can  distinguish 
those  only  which  are  strongest,  and  even  then  we  shall  not  dis- 
tinguish these  if  the  mingling  has  been  made  so  skilfully  that 
no  one  odour  shall  prevail  over  the  others.  In  such  a  case  they 
appear  to  pass  one  into  another,"  like  colours  ground  up  to- 
gether; they  unite  and  mingle  so  thoroughly  that  not  one  of  them 
remains  what  it  originally  was,  and  of  many  odours  one  alone 
remains. 


3S6  CONDILLAC 

So  if  our  statue,  at  the  first  moment  of  its  existence,  smells 
two  odours,  it  will  not  conclude  that  it  is  at  one  and  the  same 
time  in  two  states  of  being.  But  let  us  suppose  that  having 
learned  to  know  them  separately,  it  smells  them  together:  will 
it  recognize  them  ?  That  does  not  appear  probable  to  me.  For, 
unaware  that  they  come  from  two  different  bodies,  nothing  can 
lead  it  to  suspect  that  the  sensation  it  experiences  is  the  sum  of 
two  other  sensations.  Indeed,  if  neither  prevail,  it  would  be  the 
same  with  us,  and  if  one  of  the  two  is  fainter,  it  will  merely  alter 
the  stronger  and  they  will  together  seem  to  be  a  simple  state  of 
being.  To  convince  ourselves  of  this  we  need  only  smell  odours 
which  we  are  not  accustomed  to  refer  to  separate  bodies;  I  am 
persuaded  that  we  would  not  venture  to  affirm  whether  they  are 
one  odour  or  several  odours.  And  this  is  precisely  the  case  of  the 
statue. 

Therefore  the  statue  acquires  discernment  only  through  the 
attention  it  gives  at  one  and  the  same  time  to  a  state  of  being 
which  it  is  actually  experiencing  and  to  another  state  which  it 
has  previously  experienced.  Thus  its  judgments  do  not  bear 
upon  two  odours  smelled  at  one  and  the  same  time,  but  upon 
successive  sensations. 

CHAPTER  III.  OF  THE  DESIRES,  THE  PASSIONS, 
LOVE,  HATE,  HOPE,  FEAR  AND  WILL  IN  A 
MAN  LIMITED  TO  THE  SENSE  OF  SMELL 

1.  We  have  just  seen  the  character  of  the  various  kinds  of 
wants,  and  that  they  are  the  causes  of  the  degrees  of  intensity 
with  which  the  faculties  of  the  soul  attach  themselves  to  a  state 
of  well-being,  the  enjojment  of  which  becomes  a  necessity.  Now 
desire  is  nothing  else  than  the  action  of  these  faculties,  when 
these  are  directed  towards  the  thing  of  which  we  feel  the  need. 

2.  Therefore  every  desire  presupposes  that  the  statue  conceives 
of  a  condition  better  than  the  one  wherein  it  finds  itself  at  the 
time,  and  that  it  compares  the  difference  between  two  states  of 
being  succeeding  each  other.  If  they  differ  but  little,  its  suffering 
is  less,  in  consequence  of  the  deprivation  of  the  mode  of  being 


TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS  357 

that  it  desires;  and  I  give  the  name  of  discomfort  or  slight  dis- 
content, to  the  feeling  it  experiences.  In  such  a  case  both  the 
action  of  its  facuhies  is  less  energetic  and  its  desires  are  less 
strong.  On  the  contrary,  it  suffers  more  if  the  difference  be  great, 
and  I  give  the  name  of  anxiety,  or  even  of  torment,  to  the  im- 
pression it  then  experiences.  Therefore  the  difference  between 
these  two  states  is  the  measure  of  the  desire,  and  it  is  sufficient 
to  remember  by  how  much  the  action  of  the  faculties  gains  or 
loses  in  intensity  in  order  to  know  all  the  degrees  of  desires. 

3.  For  instance,  they  are  never  so  violent  as  when  the  facul- 
ties of  the  statue  tend  to  a  state  of  well-being  the  loss  of  which 
causes  an  anxiety  the  greater  in  proportion  to  the  difference  of 
that  wished- for  state  from  the  existing  state.  In  such  cases, 
nothing  can  distract  the  statue's  attention  from  that  condition: 
it  recalls  it,  it  imagines  it;  all  its  faculties  are  concentrated  upon 
it.  Consequently  the  more  it  desires  it,  the  more  it  accustoms 
itself  to  desire.  In  a  word,  it  feels  for  it  what  we  call  a  passion, 
that  is,  a  desire  which  prevents  our  feeling  any  other,  or  at  least 
is  the  most  powerful  one. 

4.  This  passion  persists  so  long  as  the  state  which  is  the  object 
of  it  continues  to  appear  the  most  agreeable,  and  so  long  as  the 
absence  of  that  state  is  accompanied  by  the  same  anxieties.  But- 
it  is  replaced  by  another  passion,  if  the  statue  has  occasion  to 
become  accustomed  to  another  condition  to  which  it  will  give 
the  preference. 

5.  From  the  moment  that  enjoyment,  suffering,  need,  desire, 
passion  exist  in  the  statue,  love  and  hate  exist  likewise.  For  the 
statue  loves  a  pleasant  odour,  which  it  enjoys  or  desires.  It  hates 

a  disagreeable  odour,  which  causes  it  to  suffer;  finally,  it  likes/ 
less  a  less  agreeable  odour,  which  it  would  fain  exchange  for^'^H? 
another.   In  proof  of  this,  it  is  sufficient  to  note  that  to  love  is 
always  synonymous  with  to  enjoy  or  to  desire,  and  that  to  hate 
is  similarly  synonymous  with  suffering  from  discomfort,  from 
discontent,  in  the  presence  of  some  object. 

6.  As  there  may  be  several  gradations  in  the  amount  of  anxiety 
caused  by  the  loss  of  a  pleasant  object,  and  in  the  discontent 
caused  by  the  sight  of  an  odious  one,  so  may  similar  gradations 


3S8  CONDILLAC 

be  noted  in  love  and  in  hate.  Indeed  we  even  have  words  to 
denote  them:  such  as  taste,  inclination,  tendency,  aloofness, 
repugnance, -disgust.  Although  these  words  cannot  be  substi- 
tuted for  the  words  love,  hate,  none  the  less  the  feelings  they 
express  are  but  the  beginnings  of  these  passions;  they  dififer  from 
these  merely  in  being  weaker. 

7.  For  the  rest,  the  love  of  which  our  statue  is  capable,  is  but 
love  of  self,  or  that  which  bears  the  name  of  self-love.  For,  in 
truth,  it  loves  but  itself,  seeing  that  the  things  it  loves  are  but 
its  own  states  of  being. 

8.  Hope  and  fear  spring  from  the  same  principle  as  love  and 
hate. 

Our  statue,  being  in  the  habit  of  experiencing  agreeable  or 
disagreeable  sensations,  is  led  to  conclude  that  it  can  experience 
further  sensations  of  the  same  sort.  If  this  conclusion  combines 
with  a  sensation  which  pleases,  it  produces  hope;  and  if  it 
combines  with  a  sensation  that  displeases,  it  causes  fear.  For, 
in  fact,  to  hope  is  to  flatter  one's  self  that  one  shall  possess  a 
certain  good;  to  fear,  is  to  be  threatened  by  an  evil.  It  may  be 
noted  that  hope  and  fear  contribute  to  increase  desire.  It  is  from 
the  conflict  of  these  two  feelings  that  the  most  violent  passions 
,  arise. 

9.  The  remembrance  that  it  has  satisfied  some  of  its  desires 
causes  our  statue  to  hope  all  the  more  to  be  able  to  satisfy  other 
desires,  that,  unaware  of  the  obstacles  which  stand  in  the  way, 
it  does  not  see  why  what  it  desires  should  not  be  within  its  power, 
like  what  it  has  desired  on  other  occasions.  It  is  true  that  the 
statue  cannot  make  sure  of  this,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  has 
no  proof  of  the  contrary.  If  it  more  particularly  remembers  that 
the  same  desire  which  it  feels  has  formerly  been  followed  by 
enjoyment,  it  will  believe  itself  capable  of  realizing  it  in  propor- 
tion as  its  want  of  it  becomes  greater.  Thus  two  causes  will  con- 
tribute to  inspire  it  with  confidence:  the  knowledge  that  it  has 
satisfied  such  a  desire  before,  and  its  interest  in  satisfying  it 
once  again.  Henceforth  the  statue  will  not  be  satisfied  with  de- 
siring; it  will  will;  for  by  will  is  meant  an  absolute  desire,  such 
that  we  consider  that  a  thing  we  desire  is  in  our  power. 


CONDILLAC  359 

CHAPTER  VI.   OF  THE  EGO,  OR  PERSONALITY  OF 
A  MAN  LIMITED   TO   THE  SENSE  OF  SMELL 

1.  Our  statue  being  capable  of  remembering,  it  is  no  sooner 
one  odo-ur  than  it  remembers  that  it  has  been  another.  That  is  its 
personality,  for  if  it  could  say  /,  it  would  say  it  at  every  instant 
of  its  own  duration,  and  each  time  its  /  would  comprise  all  the 
moments  it  remembered. 

2.  True,  it  would  not  say  it  at  the  first  odour.  What  is  meant 
by  that  term  seems  to  me  to  suit  only  a  being  which  notes  in 
the  present  moment,  that  it  is  no  longer  what  it  has  been.  So 
long  as  it  does  not  change,  it  exists  without  thought  of  itself;  but 
as  soon  as  it  changes,  it  concludes  that  it  is  the  selfsame  which 
was  formerly  in  such  another  state,  and  it  says  /. 

This  observation  confirms  the  fact  that  in  the  first  instant  of 
its  existence  the  statue  cannot  form  desires,  for  before  being 
able  to  say  /  luish,  one  must  have  said  /. 

3.  The  odours  which  the  statue  does  not  remember  do  not 
therefore  enter  into  the  notion  it  has  of  its  own  person.  Being  as 
foreign  to  its  Ego  as  are  colours  and  sounds,  of  which  it  has  no 
knowledge,  they  are,  in  respect  of  the  statue,  as  if  the  statue  had 
never  smelled  them.  Its  Ego  is  but  the  sum  of  the  sensations  it 
experiences  and  of  those  which  memory  recalls  to  it.  In  a  word, 
it  is  at  once  the  consciousness  of  what  it  is  and  the  remembrance 
of  what  it  has  been. 

CHAPTER  VII.    CONCLUSIONS   FROM  THE  PRE- 
CEDING CHAPTERS 

I.  Having  proved  that  the  statue  is  capable  of  being  attentive, 
of  remembering,  of  comparing,  of  judging,  of  discerning,  of 
imagining;  that  it  possesses  abstract  notions,  notions  of  number 
and  duration;  that  it  is  acquainted  with  general  and  particular 
truths;  that  desires  are  formed  by  it,  that  it  has  the  power  of 
passions,  loves,  hates,  wills;  and  finally  that  it  contracts  habits, 
we  must  conclude  that  the  mind  is  endowed  with  as  many  facul- 


36o  TREATISE  ON  SENSATIONS 

ties  when  it  has  but  a  single  organ  as  when  it  has  five.  We  shall 
see  that  the  faculties  which  appear  to  be  peculiar  to  us  are  no- 
thing else  than  the  same  faculties  which,  applied  to  a  greater 
number  of  objects,  develop  more  fully. 

2.  If  we  consider  that  to  remember,  compare,  judge,  discern, 
imagine,  be  astonished,  have  abstract  notions,  have  notions  of 
duration  and  number,  know  general  and  particular  truths,  are 

'^but  different  modes  of  attention;  that  to  have  passions,  to  love, 
to  hate,  to  hope,  to  fear  and  to  will  are  but  difTcrent  modes  of 
desire,  and  that,  finally,  attention  and  desire  are  in  their  essence 
but  sensation,  we  shall  conclude  that  sensation  calls  out  all  the 
faculties  of  the  soul. 

3.  Lastly,  if  we  consider  that  there  are  no  absolutely  indiffer- 
ent sensations,  we  shall  further  conclude  that  the  different  degrees 
of  pleasure  and  of  pain  constitute  the  law  according  to  which 
the  germ  of  all  that  we  are  has  developed  in  order  to  produce  all 
our  faculties. 

This  principle  may  be  called  want,  astonishment,  or  otherwise, 
but  it  remains  ever  the  same,  for  we  are  always  moved  by  plea- 
sure or  by  pain  in  whatever  we  are  led  to  do  by  need  or  astonish- 
ment. 

The  fact  is  that  our  earliest  notions  are  pain  or  pleasure  only. 
Many  others  soon  follow  these,  and  give  rise  to  comparisons, 
whence  spring  our  'earliest  needs  and  our  earliest  desires.  Our 
researches,  undertaken  for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  these  needs 
and  desires,  cause  us  to  acquire  additional  notions  which  in  their 
turn  produce  new  desires.  The  surprise  which  makes  us  feel  in- 
tensely any  extraordinary  thing  happening  to  us,  increases  from 
time  to  time  the  activity  of  our  faculties^  and  there  is  formed  a 
chain  the  links  of  which  are  alternately  notions  and  desires,  and 
it  is  sufficient  to  follow  up  this  chain  to  discover  the  progress  of 
the  enlightening  of  man. 

4.  Nearly  all  that  I  have  said  about  the  faculties  of  the  soul, 
while  treating  of  the  sense  of  smell,  I  might  have  said  if  I  had 
taken  any  other  sense ;  it  is  easy  to  apply  all  to  each  of  the  senses. 
I  have  now  only  to  examine  what  is  peculiar  to  each  of  them. 


THOMAS  REID 

(1710-1796) 

ESSAYS  ON  THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS 

OF  MAN* 

ESSAY  II.    OF    THE    POWERS    WE    HAVE    BY 
MEANS    OF    OUR    EXTERNAL    SENSES 

CHAPTER   v.  — OF  PERCEPTION 

In  speaking  of  the  impressions  made  on  our  organs  in  percep- 
tion, we  build  upon  facts  borrowed  from  anatomy  and  physi- 
ology, for  which  we  have  the  testimony  of  our  senses.  But,  being 
now  to  speak  of  perception  itself,  which  is  solely  an  act  of  the 
mind,  we  must  appeal  to  another  authority.  The  operations  of 
our  minds  are  known,  not  by  sense,  but  by  consciousness,  the 
authority  of  which  is  as  certain  and  as  irresistible  as  that  of 
sense. 

In  order,  however,  to  our  having  a  distinct  notion  of  any  of 
the  operations  of  our  own  minds,  it  is  not  enough  that  we  be 
conscious  of  them;  for  all  men  have  this  consciousness.  It  is 
farther  necessary  that  we  attend  to  them  while  they  are  ex- 
erted, and  reflect  upon  them  with  care,  while  they  are  recent 
and  fresh  in  our  memory.  It  is  necessary  that,  by  employing  our- 
selves frequently  in  this  way,  we  get  the  habit  of  this  attention 
and  reflection;  and,  therefore,  for  the  proof  of  facts  which  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  mention  upon  this  subject,  I  can  only  appeal 
to  the  reader's  own  thoughts,  whether  such  facts  are  not  agree- 
able to  what  he  is  conscious  of  in  his  own  mind. 

If,  therefore,  we  attend  to  that  act  of  our  mind  which  we  call 
the  perception  of  an  external  object  of  sense,  we  shall  find  in  it 
these  three  things:  —  First,  Some  conception  or  notion  of  the 

*  Edinburgh,  1785. 


362  THOMAS  REID 

object  perceived;  Secondly,  A  strong  and  irresistible  conviction 
and  belief  of  its  present  existence;  and,  Thirdly,  That  this  con- 
viction and  belief  are  immediate,  and  not  the  effect  of  reason- 
ing. 

First,  It  is  impossible  to  perceive  an  object  without  having 
some  notion  or  conception  of  that  which  we  perceive.  We  may, 
indeed,  conceive  an  object  which  we  do  not  perceive;  but,  when 
we  perceive  the  object,  we  must  have  some  conception  of  it  at 
the  same  time;  and  we  have  commonly  a  more  clear  and  steady 
notion  of  the  object  while  we  perceive  it,  than  we  have  from 
memory  or  imagination  when  it  is  not  perceived.  Yet,  even  in 
perception,  the  notion  which  our  senses  give  of  the  object  may 
be  more  or  less  clear,  more  or  less  distinct,  in  all  possible  degrees. 

Thus  we  see  more  distinctly  an  object  at  a  small  than  at  a 
great  distance.  An  object  at  a  great  distance  is  seen  more  dis- 
tinctly in  a  clear  than  in  a  foggy  day.  An  object  seen  indis- 
tinctly with  the  naked  eye,  on  account  of  its  smallness,  may  be 
seen  distinctly  with  a  microscope.  The  objects  in  this  room  will 
be  seen  by  a  person  in  the  room  less  and  less  distinctly  as  the 
light  of  the  day  fails;  they  pass  through  all  the  various  degrees 
of  distinctness  according  to  the  degrees  of  the  light,  and,  at 
last,  in  total  darkness  they  are  not  seen  at  all.  What  has  been 
said  of  the  objects  of  sight  is  so  easily  applied  to  the  objects  of 
the  other  senses,  that  the  application  may  be  left  to  the  reader. 

In  a  matter  so  obvious  to  every  person  capable  of  reflection, 
it  is  necessary  only  farther  to  observe,  that  the  notion  which  we 
get  of  an  object,  merely  by  our  external  sense,  ought  not  to  be 
confounded  with  that  more  scientific  notion  which  a  man,  come 
to  the  years  of  understanding,  may  have  of  the  same  object,  by 
attending  to  its  various  attributes,  or  to  its  various  parts,  and 
their  relation  to  each  other,  and  to  the  whole.  Thus,  the  notion 
which  a  child  has  of  a  jack  for  roasting  meat,  will  be  acknow- 
ledged to  be  very  different  from  that  of  a  man  who  understands 
its  construction,  and  perceives  the  relation  of  the  parts  to  one 
another,  and  to  the  whole.  The  child  sees  the  jack  and  every 
part  of  it  as  well  as  the  man.  The  child,  therefore,  has  all  the 
notion  of  it  which  sight  gives;  whatever  there  is  more  in  the 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS  OF  MAN    363 

notion  which  the  man  forms  of  it,  must  be  derived  from  other 
powers  of  the  mind,  which  may  afterwards  be  explained.  This 
observation  is  made  here  only  that  we  may  not  confound  the 
operations  of  different  powers  of  the  mind,  which  by  being 
always  conjoined  after  we  grow  up  to  understanding,  are  apt  to 
pass  for  one  and  the  same. 

Secondly,  In  perception  we  not  only  have  a  notion  more  or 
less  distinct  of  the  object  perceived,  but  also  an  irresistible  con- 
viction and  belief  of  its  existence.  This  is  always  the  case  when 
we  are  certain  that  we  perceive  it.  There  may  be  a  perception 
so  faint  and  indistinct  as  to  leave  us  in  doubt  whether  we  per- 
ceive the  object  or  not.  Thus,  when  a  star  begins  to  twinkle  as 
the  light  of  the  sun  withdraws,  one  may,  for  a  short  time,  think 
he  sees  it  without  being  certain,  until  the  perception  acquire 
some  strength  and  steadiness.  When  a  ship  just  begins  to  appear 
in  the  utmost  verge  of  the  horizon,  we  may  at  first  be  dubious 
whether  we  perceive  it  or  not ;  but  when  the  perception  is  in  any 
degree  clear  and  steady,  there  remains  no  doubt  of  its  reality ; 
and  when  the  reality  of  the  perception  is  ascertained,  the  exist- 
ence of  the  object  perceived  can  no  longer  be  doubted. 

By  the  laws  of  all  nations,  in  the  most  solemn  judicial  trials, 
wherein  men's  fortunes  and  lives  are  at  stake,  the  sentence 
passes  according  to  the  testimony  of  eye  or  ear  witnesses  of 
good  credit.  An  upright  judge  will  give  a  fair  hearing  to  every 
objection  that  can  be  made  to  the  integrity  of  a  witness,  and 
allow  it  to  be  possible  that  he  may  be  corrupted;  but  no  judge 
will  ever  suppose  that  witnesses  may  be  imposed  upon  by  trust- 
ing to  their  eyes  and  ears.  And  if  a  sceptical  counsel  should 
plead  against  the  testimony  of  the  witnesses,  that  they  had  no 
other  evidence  for  what  they  declared  but  the  testimony  of 
their  eyes  and  ears,  and  that  we  ought  not  to  put  so  much 
faith  in  our  senses  as  to  deprive  men  of  life  or  fortune  upon  their 
testimony,  surely  no  upright  judge  would  admit  a  plea  of  this 
kind.  I  believe  no  counsel,  however  sceptical,  ever  dared  to 
offer  such  an  argument;  and,  if  it  was  offered,  it  would  be 
rejected  with  disdain. 

Can  any  stronger  proof  be  given  that  it  is  the  universal  judg- 


364  THOMAS  REID 

ment  of  mankind  that  the  evidence  of  sense  is  a  kind  of  evi- 
dence which  we  may  securely  rest  upon  in  the  most  momentous 
concerns  of  mankind ;  that  it  is  a  kind  of  evidence  against  which 
we  ought  not  to  admit  any  reasoning;  and,  therefore  that  to 
reason  either  for  or  against  it  is  an  insult  to  common  sense? 

The  whole  conduct  of  mankind  in  the  daily  occurrences  of 
life,  as  well  as  the  solemn  procedure  of  judicatories  in  the  trial 
of  causes  civil  and  criminal,  demonstrates  this.  I  know  only  of 
two  exceptions  that  may  be  offered  against  this  being  the  uni- 
versal belief  of  mankind. 

The  first  exception  is  that  of  some  lunatics  who  have  been 
persuaded  of  things  that  seem  to  contradict  the  clear  testimony 
of  their  senses.  It  is  said  there  have  been  lunatics  and  hypo- 
chondriacal persons,  who  seriously  believed  themselves  to  be 
made  of  glass;  and,  in  consequence  of  this,  lived  in  continual 
terror  of  having  their  brittle  frame  shivered  into  pieces. 

All  I  have  to  say  to  this  is,  that  our  minds,  in  our  present 
state,  are,  as  well  as  our  bodies,  liable  to  strange  disorders;  and, 
as  we  do  not  judge  of  the  natural  constitution  of  the  body  from 
the  disorders  or  diseases  to  which  it  is  subject  from  accidents, 
so  neither  ought  we  to  judge  of  the  natural  powers  of  the  mind 
from  its  disorders,  but  from  its  sound  state.  It  is  natural  to 
man,  and  common  to  the  species,  to  have  two  hands  and  two 
feet;  yet  I  have  seen  a  man,  and  a  very  ingenious  one,  who  was 
bom  without  either  hands  or  feet.  It  is  natural  to  man  to  have 
faculties  superior  to  those  of  brutes ;  yet  we  see  some  individuals 
whose  faculties  are  not  equal  to  those  of  many  brutes;  and  the 
wisest  man  may,  by  various  accidents,  be  reduced  to  this  state. 
General  rules  that  regard  those  whose  intellects  are  sound  are 
not  overthrown  by  instances  of  men  whose  intellects  are  hurt 
by  any  constitutional  or  accidental  disorder. 

The  other  exception  that  may  be  made  to  the  principle  we 
have  laid  down  is  that  of  some  philosophers  who  have  main- 
tained that  the  testimony  of  sense  is  fallacious,  and  therefore 
ought  never  to  be  trusted.  Perhaps  it  might  be  a  sufficient  an- 
swer to  this  to  say,  that  there  is  nothing  so  absurd  which  some 
philosophers  have  not  maintained.  It  is  one  thing  to  profess  a 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS  OF  MAN    365 

doctrine  of  this  kind,  another  seriously  to  believe  it,  and  to  be 
governed  by  it  in  the  conduct  of  life.  It  is  evident  that  a  man 
who  did  not  believe  his  senses  could  not  keep  out  of  harm's  way 
an  hour  of  his  life;  yet,  in  all  the  history  of  philosophy,  we  never 
read  of  any  sceptic  that  ever  stepped  into  fire  or  water  be- 
cause he  did  not  believe  his  senses,  or  that  shewed  in  the  con- 
duct of  life  less  trust  in  his  senses  than  other  men  have.  This 
gives  us  just  ground  to  apprehend  that  philosophy  was  never 
able  to  conquer  that  natural  belief  which  men  have  in  their 
senses;  and  that  all  their  subtile  reasonings  against  this  belief 
were  never  able  to  persuade  themselves. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  clear  and  distinct  testimony 
of  our  senses  carries  irresistible  conviction  along  with  it  to  every 
man  in  his  right  judgment. 

I  observed,  Thirdly,  That  this  conviction  is  not  only  irresisti- 
ble, but  it  is  immediate ;  that  is,  it  is  not  by  a  train  of  reasoning 
and  argumentation  that  we  come  to  be  convinced  of  the  exist- 
ence of  what  we  perceive;  we  ask  no  argument  for  the  exist- 
ence of  the  object,  but  that  we  perceive  it;  perception  com- 
mands our  belief  upon  its  own  authority,  and  disdains  to  rest 
its  authority  upon  any  reasoning  whatsoever. 

The  conviction  of  a  truth  may  be  irresistible,  and  yet  not 
immediate.  Thus,  my  conviction  that  the  three  angles  of  every 
plain  triangle  are  equal  to  two  right  angles,  is  irresistible,  but  it 
is  not  immediate;  I  am  convinced  of  it  by  demonstrative  rea- 
soning. There  are  other  truths  in  mathematics  of  which  we 
have  not  only  an  irresistible  but  an  immediate  conviction. 
Such  are  the  axioms.  Our  belief  of  the  axioms  in  mathematics 
is  not  grounded  upon  argument  —  arguments  are  grounded 
upon  them;  but  their  evidence  is  discerned  immediately  by  the 
human  understanding. 

It  is,  no  doubt,  one  thing  to  have  an  immediate  conviction  of 
a  self-evident  axiom ;  it  is  another  thing  to  have  an  immediate 
conviction  of  the  existence  of  what  we  see;  but  the  conviction 
is  equally  immediate  and  equally  irresistible  in  both  cases.  No 
man  thinks  of  seeking  a  reason  to  believe  what  he  sees;  and, 
before  we  are  capable  of  reasoning,  we  put  no  less  confidence  in 


366  THOMAS  REID 

our  senses  than  after.  The  rudest  savage  is  as  fully  convinced 
of  what  he  sees,  and  hears,  and  feels,  as  the  most  expert  logi- 
cian. The  constitution  of  our  understanding  determines  us  to 
hold  the  truth  of  a  mathematical  axiom  as  a  first  principle,  from 
which  other  truths  may  be  deduced,  but  it  is  deduced  from  none ; 
and  the  constitution  of  our  power  of  perception  determines  us 
to  hold  the  existence  of  what  we  distinctly  perceive  as  a  first 
principle,  from  which  other  truths  may  be  deduced;  but  it  is 
deduced  from  none.  What  has  been  said  of  the  irresistible  and 
immediate  belief  of  the  existence  of  objects  distinctly  per- 
ceived, I  mean  only  to  afl&rm  with  regard  to  persons  so  far  ad- 
vanced in  understanding  as  to  distinguish  objects  of  mere  imag- 
ination from  things  which  have  a  real  existence.  Every  man 
knows  that  he  may  have  a  notion  of  Don  Quixote,  or  of  Gara- 
gantua,  without  any  belief  that  such  persons  ever  existed;  and 
that  of  Julius  Caesar  and  Oliver  Cromwell,  he  has  not  only  a 
notion,  but  a  belief  that  they  did  really  exist.  But  whether  child- 
ren, from  the  time  that  they  begin  to  use  their  senses,  make  a 
distinction  between  things  which  are  only  conceived  or  imag- 
ined, and  things  which  really  exist,  may  be  doubted.  Until  we 
are  able  to  make  this  distinction,  we  cannot  properly  be  said  to 
believe  or  to  disbelieve  the  existence  of  anything.  The  belief  of 
the  existence  of  anything  seems  to  suppose  a  notion  of  existence 
—  a  notion  too  abstract,  perhaps,  to  enter  into  the  mind  of  an 
infant.  I  sp>eak  of  the  power  of  perception  in  those  that  are 
adult  and  of  a  sound  mind,  who  believe  that  there  are  some 
things  which  do  really  exist;  and  that  there  are  many  things 
conceived  by  themselves,  and  by  others,  which  have  no  exist- 
ence. That  such  persons  do  invariably  ascribe  existence  to 
everything  which  they  distinctly  perceive,  without  seeking  rea- 
sons or  arguments  for  doing  so,  is  perfectly  evident  from  the 
whole  tenor  of  human  life. 

The  account  I  have  given  of  our  perception  of  external 
objects,  is  intended  as  a  faithful  delineation  of  what  every 
man,  come  to  years  of  understanding,  and  capable  of  giving 
attention  to  what  passes  in  his  own  mind,  may  feel  in  himself. 
In  what  manner  the  notion  of  external  objects,  and  the  imme- 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS  OF  MAN    367 

diate  belief  of  their  existence,  is  produced  by  means  of  our 
senses,  I  am  not  able  to  shew,  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  shew.  If 
the  power  of  perceiving  external  objects  in  certain  circum- 
stances, be  a  part  of  the  original  constitution  of  the  human 
mind,  all  attempts  to  account  for  it  will  be  vain.  No  other 
account  can  be  given  of  the  constitution  of  things,  but  the  will 
of  Him  that  made  them.  As  we  can  give  no  reason  why  matter 
is  extended  and  inert,  why  the  mind  thinks  and  is  conscious  of 
its  thoughts,  but  the  will  of  Him  who  made  both;  so  I  suspect 
we  can  give  no  other  reason  why,  in  certain  circumstances,  we 
perceive  external  objects,  and  in  others  do  not. 

The  Supreme  Being  intended  that  we  should  have  such 
knowledge  of  the  material  objects  that  surround  us,  as  is  neces- 
sary in  order  to  our  supplying  the  wants  of  nature,  and  avoiding 
the  dangers  to  which  we  are  constantly  exposed;  and  he  has 
admirably  fitted  our  powers  of  perception  to  this  purpose.  If 
the  intelligence  we  have  of  external  objects  were  to  be  got  by 
reasoning  only,  the  greatest  part  of  men  would  be  destitute  of 
it;  for  the  greatest  part  of  men  hardly  ever  learn  to  reason;  and 
in  infancy  and  childhood  no  man  can  reason :  Therefore,  as  this 
intelligence  of  the  objects  that  surround  us,  and  from  which  we 
may  receive  so  much  benefit  or  harm,  is  equally  necessary  to 
children  and  to  men,  to  the  ignorant  and  to  the  learned,  God  in 
his  wisdom  conveys  it  to  us  in  a  way  that  puts  all  upon  a  level. 
The  information  of  the  senses  is  as  perfect,  and  gives  as  full 
conviction  to  the  most  ignorant  as  to  the  most  learned. 

CHAPTER  XV I.    OF  SENSATION 

Having  finished  what  I  intend,  with  regard  to  that  act  of 
mind  which  we  call  the  preception  of  an  external  object,  I  pro- 
ceed to  consider  another,  which,  by  our  constitution,  is  con- 
joined with  perception,  and  not  with  perception  only,  but  with 
many  other  acts  of  our  minds;  and  that  is  sensation. 

Almost  all  our  perceptions  have  corresponding  sensations 
which  constantly  accompany  them,  and,  on  that  ac-count,  are 
very  apt  to  be  confounded  with  them.   Neither  ought  we  to 


368  THOMAS  REID 

expect  that  the  sensation,  and  its  corresponding  perception, 
should  be  distinguished  in  common  language,  because  the  pur- 
poses of  common  Ufe  do  not  require  it.  Language  is  made  to 
serve  the  purposes  of  ordinary  conversation;  and  we  have  no 
reason  to  expect  that  it  should  make  distinctions  that  are  not  of 
common  use.  Hence  it  happens,  that  a  quality  perceived,  and 
the  sensation  corresponding  to  that  perception,  often  go  under 
the  same  name. 

This  makes  the  names  of  most  of  our  sensations  ambiguous, 
and  this  ambiguity  hath  very  much  perplexed  philosophers. 
It  will  be  necessary  to  give  some  instances,  to  illustrate  the 
distinction  between  our  sensations  and  the  objects  of  percep- 
tion. 

When  I  smell  a  rose,  there  is  in  this  operation  both  sensation 
and  perception.  The  agreeable  odour  I  feel,  considered  by 
itself,  without  relation  to  any  external  object,  is  merely  a  sensa- 
tion. It  affects  the  mind  in  a  certain  way;  and  this  affection  of 
the  mind  may  be  conceived,  without  a  thought  of  the  rose,  or 
any  other  object.  This  sensation  can  be  nothing  else  than  it  is 
felt  to  be.  Its  very  essence  consists  in  being  felt;  and,  when 
it  is  not  felt,  it  is  not.  There  is  no  difference  between  the 
sensation  and  the  feeling  of  it  —  they  are  one  and  the  same 
thing.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  before  observed  that,  in 
sensation,  there  is  no  object  distinct  from  that  act  of  the  mind 
by  which  it  is  felt  —  and  this  holds  true  with  regard  to  all 
sensations. 

Let  us  next  attend  to  the  perception  which  we  have  in  smell- 
ing a  rose.  Perception  has  always  an  external  object;  and  the 
object  of  my  perception,  in  this  case,  is  that  quality  in  the  rose 
which  I  discern  by  the  sense  of  smell.  Observing  that  the  agree- 
able sensation  is  raised  when  the  rose  is  near,  and  ceases  when 
it  is  removed,  I  am  led,  by  my  nature,  to  conclude  some  quality 
to  be  in  the  rose,  which  is  the  cause  of  this  sensation.  This  qual- 
ity in  the  rose  is  the  object  perceived ;  and  that  act  of  my  mind 
by  which  I  have  the  conviction  and  belief  of  this  quality,  is 
what  in  this  case  I  call  perception. 

But  it  is  here  to  be  observed,  that  the  sensation  I  feel,  and 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS  OF  MAN    369 

the  quality  in  the  rose  which  I  perceive,  are  both  called  by  the 
same  name.  The  smell  of  a  rose  is  the  name  given  to  both :  so 
that  this  name  hath  two  meanings;  and  the  distinguishing  its 
dififerent  meanings  removes  all  perplexity,  and  enables  us  to 
give  clear  and  distinct  answers  to  questions  about  which 
philosophers  have  held  much  dispute. 

Thus,  if  it  is  asked,  whether  the  smell  be  in  the  rose,  or  in  the 
mind  that  feels  it,  the  answer  is  obvious:  That  there  are  two 
different  things  signified  by  the  smell  of  a  rose;  one  of  which  is 
in  the  mind,  and  can  be  in  nothing  but  in  a  sentient  being;  the 
other  is  truly  and  properly  in  the  rose.  The  sensation  which  I 
feel  is  in  my  mind.  The  mind  is  the  sentient  being;  and,  as  the 
rose  is  insentient,  there  can  be  no  sensation,  nor  anything  re- 
sembling sensation  in  it.  But  this  sensation  in  my  mind  is 
occasioned  by  a  certain  quality  in  the  rose,  which  is  called  by 
the  same  name  with  the  sensation,  not  on  account  of  any  simil- 
itude, but  because  of  their  constant  concomitancy. 

All  the  names  we  have  for  smells,  tastes,  sounds,  and  for  the 
various  degrees  of  heat  and  cold,  have  a  hke  ambiguity;  and 
what  has  been  said  of  the  smell  of  a  rose  may  be  applied  to 
them.  They  signify  both  a  sensation,  and  a  quality  perceived 
by  means  of  that  sensation.  The  first  is  the  sign,  the  last  the 
thing  signified.  As  both  are  conjoined  by  nature,  and  as  the 
purposes  of  common  life  do  not  require  them  to  be  disjoined 
in  our  thoughts,  they  are  both  expressed  by  the  same  name: 
and  this  ambiguity  is  to  be  found  in  all  languages,  because  the 
reason  of  it  extends  to  all. 

The  same  ambiguity  is  found  in  the  names  of  such  diseases 
as  are  indicated  by  a  particular  painful  sensation:  such  as  the 
toothache,  the  headache.  The  toothache  signifies  a  painful 
sensation,  which  can  only  be  in  a  sentient  being;  but  it  signifies 
also  a  disorder  in  the  body,  which  has  no  similitude  to  a  sensa- 
tion, but  is  naturally  connected  with  it. 

Pressing  my  hand  with  force  against  the  table,  I  feel  pain, 
and  I  feel  the  table  to  be  hard.  The  pain  is  a  sensation  of  the 
mind,  and  there  is  nothing  that  resembles  it  in  the  table.  The 
hardness  is  in  the  table,  nor  is  there  anything  resembling  it  in 


370  THOMAS  REID 

the  mind.  Feeling  is  applied  to  both;  but  in  a  different  sense; 
being  a  word  common  to  the  act  of  sensation,  and  to  that  of 
perceiving  by  the  sense  of  touch. 

I  touch  the  table  gently  with  my  hand,  and  I  feel  it  to  be 
smooth,  hard,  and  cold.  These  are  qualities  of  the  table  per- 
ceived by  touch ;  but  I  perceive  them  by  means  of  a  sensation 
which  indicates  them.  This  sensation  not  being  painful,  I  com- 
monly give  no  attention  to  it.  It  carries  my  thought  immedi- 
ately to  the  thing  signified  by  it,  and  is  itself  forgot,  as  if  it  had 
never  been.  But,  by  repeating  it,  and  turning  my  attention  to 
it,  and  abstracting  my  thought  from  the  thing  signified  by  it,  I 
find  it  to  be  merely  a  sensation,  and  that  it  has  no  simiUtude 
to  the  hardness,  smoothness,  or  coldness  of  the  table,  which  are 
signified  by  it. 

It  is  indeed  difficult,  at  first,  to  disjoin  th'ngs  in  our  attention 
which  have  always  been  conjoined,  and  to  make  that  an  object 
of  reflection  which  never  was  so  before;  but  some  pains  and 
practice  will  overcome  this  difficulty  in  those  who  have  got  the 
habit  of  reflecting  on  the  operations  of  their  own  minds. 

Although  the  present  subject  leads  us  only  to  consider  the 
sensations  which  we  have  by  means  of  our  external  senses,  yet 
it  will  serve  to  illustrate  what  has  been  said,  and,  I  apprehend, 
is  of  importance  in  itself,  to  observe,  that  many  operations  of 
mind,  to  which  we  give  one  name,  and  which  we  always  con- 
sider as  one  thing,  are  complex  in  their  nature,  and  made  up  of 
several  more  simple  ingredients;  and  of  these  ingredients  sensa- 
tion very  often  makes  one.  Of  this  we  shall  give  some  instances. 

The  appetite  of  hunger  includes  an  uneasy  sensation,  and  a 
desire  of  food.  Sensation  and  desire  are  different  acts  of  mind. 
The  last,  from  its  nature,  must  have  an  object ;  the  first  has  no 
object.  These  two  ingredients  may  always  be  separated  in 
thought  —  perhaps  they  sometimes  are,  in  reality ;  but  hunger 
includes  both. 

Benevolence  towards  our  fellow-creatures  includes  an  agree- 
able feeling;  but  it  includes  also  a  desire  of  the  happiness  of 
others.  The  ancients  commonly  called  it  desire.  Many  mod- 
ems choose  rather  to  call  it  a  feeling.  Both  are  right:  and  they 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS  OF  MAN    371 

only  err  who  exclude  either  of  the  ingredients.  Whether  these 
two  ingredients  are  necessarily  connected,  is,  perhaps,  difficult 
for  us  to  determine,  there  being  many  necessary  connections 
which  we  do  not  perceive  to  be  necessary;  but  we  can  disjoin 
them  in  thought.  They  are  different  acts  of  the  mind. 

An  uneasy  feeling,  and  a  desire,  are,  in  like  manner,  the  in- 
gredients of  malevolent  affections;  such  as  malice,  envy,  re- 
venge. The  passion  of  fe^r  includes  an  uneasy  sensation  or 
feeling,  and  an  opinion  of  danger;  and  hope  is  made  up  of  the 
contrary  ingredients.  When  we  hear  of  a  heroic  action,  the 
sentiment  which  it  raises  in  our  mind,  is  made  up  of  various 
ingredients.  There  is  in  it  an  agreeable  feeling,  a  benevolent 
affection  to  the  person,  and  a  judgment  or  opinion  of  his  merit. 

If  we  thus  analyse  the  various  operations  of  our  minds,  we 
shall  find  that  many  of  them  which  we  consider  as  perfectly 
simple,  because  we  have  been  accustomed  to  call  them  by  one 
name,  are  compounded  of  more  simple  ingredients;  and  that 
sensation,  or  feeling,  which  is  only  a  more  refined  kind  of  sensa- 
tion, makes  one  ingredient,  not  only  in  the  perception  of 
external  objects,  but  in  most  operations  of  the  mind. 

A  small  degree  of  reflection  may  satisfy  us  that  the  number 
and  variety  of  our  sensations  and  feelings  is  prodigious;  for,  to 
omit  all  those  which  accompany  our  appetites,  passions,  and 
affections,  our  moral  sentiments  and  sentiments  of  taste,  even 
our  external  senses,  furnish  a  great  variety  of  sensations,  differ- 
ing in  kind,  and  almost  in  every  kind  an  endless  variety  of 
de2;rees.  Every  variety  we  discern,  with  regard  to  taste,  smell, 
send,  colour,  heat,  and  cold,  and  in  the  tangible  qualities  of 
bodies,  is  indicated  by  a  sensation  corresponding  to  it. 

The  most  general  and  the  most  important  division  of  our 
sensations  and  feelings,  is  into  the  agreeable,  the  disagreeable, 
and  the  indifferent.  Everything  we  call  pleasure,  happiness,  or 
enjoyment,  on  the  one  hand;  and,  on  the  other,  everything  we 
call  misery,  pain,  or  uneasiness,  is  sensation  or  feeling;  for  no 
man  can  for  the  present  be  more  happy  or  more  miserable  than 
he  feels  himself  to  be.  He  cannot  be  deceived  with  regard  to  the 
enjoyment  or  suffering  of  the  present  moment. 


372  THOMAS  REID 

But  I  apprehend  that,  besides  the  sensations  that  are  either 
agreeable  or  disagreeable,  there  is  still  a  greater  number  that 
are  indifferent.  To  these  we  give  so  little  attention,  that  they 
have  no  name,  and  are  immediately  forgot,  as  if  they  had  never 
been;  and  it  requires  attention  to  the  operations  of  our  minds 
to  be  convinced  of  their  existence. 

For  this  end  we  may  observe,  that,  to  a  good  ear,  every 
human  voice  is  distinguishable  from  all  others.  Some  voices 
are  pleasant,  some  disagreeable;  but  the  far  greater  part  can 
neither  be  said  to  be  one  nor  the  other.  The  same  thing  may  be 
said  of  other  sounds,  that  no  less  of  tastes,  smells,  and  colours; 
and,  if  we  consider  that  our  senses  are  in  continual  exercise 
while  we  are  awake,  and  some  sensation  attends  every  object 
they  present  to  us,  and  that  familiar  objects  seldom  raise  any 
emotion,  pleasant  or  painful,  we  shall  see  reason,  besides  the 
agreeable  and  disagreeable,  to  admit  a  third  class  of  sensations 
that  may  be  called  indifferent. 

The  sensations  that  are  indifferent,  are  far  from  being  use- 
less. They  serve  as  signs  to  distinguish  things  that  differ;  and 
the  information  we  have  concerning  things  external,  comes  by 
their  means.  Thus,  if  a  man  had  no  ear  to  receive  pleasure  from 
the  harmony  or  melody  of  sounds,  he  would  still  find  the  sense 
of  hearing  of  great  utility.  Though  sounds  give  him  neither 
pleasure  nor  pain  of  themselves,  they  would  give  him  much 
useful  information;  and  the  like  may  be  said  of  the  sensations 
we  have  by  all  the  other  senses. 

As  to  the  sensations  and  feelings  that  are  agreeable  or  dis- 
agreeable, they  differ  much  not  only  in  degree,  but  in  kind  and 
in  dignity.  Some  belong  to  the  animal  part  of  our  nature,  and 
are  common  to  us  with  the  brutes;  others  belong  to  the  rational 
and  moral  part.  The  first  are  more  properly  called  sensations; 
the  last,  feelings.  The  French  word  sentiment  is  common  to 
both. 

I  shall  conclude  this  chapter  by  observing  that,  as  the  con- 
founding our  sensations  with  that  perception  of  external 
objects  which  is  constantly  conjoined  with  them,  has  been  the 
occasion  of  most  of  the  errors  and  false  theories  of  philosophers 


THE  INTELLECTUAL  POWERS  OF  MAN    373 

with  regard  to  the  senses;  so  the  distinguishing  these  opera- 
tions seems  to  me  to  be  the  key  that  leads  to  a  right  under- 
standing of  both. 

Sensation,  taken  by  itself,  implies  neither  the  conception  nor 
belief  of  any  externalbbject.  It  supposes  a  sentient  being,  and 
a  certain  manner  in  which  that  being  is  affected;  but  it  sup- 
poses no  more.  Perception  implies  an  immediate  conviction 
and  belief  of  something  external  —  something  different  both 
from  the  mind  that  perceives,  and  from  the  act  of  perception. 
Things  so  different  in  their  nature  ought  to  be  distinguished; 
but,  by  our  constitution,  they  are  always  united.  Every  dif- 
ferent perception  is  conjoined  with  a  sensation  that  is  proper  to 
it.  The  one  is  the  sign,  the  other  the  thing  signified.  They 
coalesce  in  our  imagination.  They  are  signified  by  one  name, 
and  are  considered  as  one  simple  operation.  The  purposes  of 
life  do  not  require  them  to  be  distinguished. 

It  is  the  philosopher  alone  who  has  occasion  to  dis- 
tinguish them,  when  he  would  analyse  the  operation  com- 
pounded of  them.  But  he  has  no  suspicion  that  there  is 
any  composition  in  it ;  and  to  discover  this  requires  a  de- 
gree of  reflection  which  has  been  too  little  practised  by 
philosophers. 


THOMAS  BROWN 

(1778-1820) 

LECTURES  ON  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF 
THE  HUMAN  MIND* 

PART  II 

CHAPTER   V.    SECTION  I.    THE  MUSCULAR 
SENSATIONS 


In  defining  sensation,  when  we  began  our  inquiry  into  its 
nature,  to  be  that  affection  of  the  mind,  which  is  immediately 
subsequent  to  the  affection  of  certain  organs,  induced  by  the 
action  of  external  bodies ;  two  assumptions  were  made,  —  the 
existence  of  foreign  changeable  external  bodies,  as  separate 
from  the  mind,  —  and  the  existence  of  organs,  also  separate 
from  the  mind,  and  in  relation  to  it  truly  external,  like  other 
bodies,  but  forming  a  permanent  part  of  our  corporeal  frame, 
and  capable  of  being  affected,  in  a  certain  manner,  by  the  other 
bodies,  of  which  the  existence  was  assumed.  As  far  as  our 
analytical  inquiry  has  yet  proceeded,  these  assumptions  are 
assumptions  still.  We  have  not  been  able  to  detect,  in  the  sens- 
ations considered  more  than  in  any  of  our  internal  pleasures 
or  pains,  any  circumstances  that  seem  to  be  indicative  of  a 
material  world  without. 

Our  analytical  inquiry  itself,  however,  even  in  attempting  to 
trace  the  circumstances  in  which  the  belief  originates,  must  pro- 
ceed on  that  very  belief.  Accordingly,  in  examining  our  senses 
of  smell,  taste,  and  hearing,  I  uniformly  took  for  granted  the 
existence  of  odoriferous,  sapid,  and  vibrating  bodies,  and  con- 

*  Edinburgh,  1820.  Reprinted  from  T.  Brown's  A  Treatise  on  the  Philosophy 
oj  the  Human  Mind,  abridged  by  Levi  Hedge,  Cambridge,  1827,  vol.  i. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    375 

sidered  merely,  whether  the  sensations  excited  by  these,  were, 
of  themselves,  capable  of  communicating  to  us  any  knowledge 
of  the  external  and  independent  existence  of  the  bodies  which 
excited  them. 

In  the  present  stage  of  our  inquiry,  I  must,  in  like  manner, 
take  for  granted  the  existence  of  bodies,  which  act,  by  their 
contiguity  or  pressure,  on  our  organs  of  touch,  as  the  odoriferous 
or  sapid  particles  act  on  our  nerves  of  smell  and  taste.  All  our 
language  is  at  present  adapted  to  a  system  of  external  things. 
There  is  no  direct  vocabulary  of  skepticism;  and  even  the  most 
cautious  and  philosophic  inquirer,  therefore,  must  often  be 
obliged  to  express  his  doubt,  or  his  dissent,  in  language  that 
impHes  affirmation.  In  the  present  case,  when  we  attempt  to 
analyze  our  sensations,  it  is  impossible  to  speak  of  the  circum- 
stances in  which  the  infant  is  placed,  or  even  to  speak  of  the 
infant  himself,  without  that  assumption  which  we  have  been 
obliged  to  make.  The  real  existence  of  an  external  universe,  and 
the  belief  of  that  existence,  are,  however,  in  themselves,  per- 
fectly separate  and  distinct;  and  it  is  not  the  existence  of  an 
external  world  which  we  are  now  endeavouring  to  establish  as 
an  object  of  belief.  We  are  only  endeavouring,  in  our  analysis 
of  the  sensations  afforded  by  our  different  organs,  to  ascertain 
in  what  circumstance  the  belief  arises.  There  might  be  a  world 
of  suns  and  planets,  though  there  were  no  human  being,  whose 
mind  could  be  affected  with  belief  of  it;  and  even  the  most 
zealous  defenders  of  the  reality  of  external  nature  must  admit, 
that,  though  no  created  thing  but  ourselves  were  in  existence, 
our  mind  might  still  have  been  so  constituted,  as  to  have  the 
very  series  of  feelings,  which  form  at  present  its  successive 
phenomena,  and  which  are  ascribed  in  no  small  number  to  the 
action  of  external  things. 

Are  the  primary  sensations  derived  from  the  organ  oFtouch, 
then,  of  such  a  kind  as  to  afford  us  that  knowledge,  which  they 
are  supposed  to  give  of  things  without? 

Let  us  imagine  a  being,  endowed  with  the  sense  of  touch,  and 
with  every  other  sense  and  faculty  of  our  mind,  but  not  with  any 
previous  knowledge  of  his  own  corporeal  frame,  or  of  other 


376  THOMAS  BROWN 

things  external,  —  and  let  us  suppose  a  small  body,  of  any 
shape,  to  be  pressed,  for  the  first  time,  on  his  open  hand.  What- 
ever feeling  mere  touch  can  give,  directly  of  itself,  would  of 
course  be  the  same  in  this  case,  as  now,  when  our  knowledge  is 
increased  and  complicated,  from  many  other  sources. 

Let  the  body,  thus  impressed,  be  supposed  to  be  a  small  cube, 
of  the  same  temperature  with  the  hand  itself,  that  all  consider- 
ations of  heat  or  cold  may  be  excluded,  and  the  feeling  produced 
be  as  simple  as  possible. 

What,  then,  may  we  suppose  the  consequent  feeling  to  be? 

It  will,  I  conceive,  be  a  simple  feeling  of  the  kind  already 
spoken  of,  as  capable  of  arising  from  the  affection  of  a  single 
point  of  our  organ  of  touch,  —  a  feeling  that  varies  indeed 
with  the  quantity  of  pressure  as  the  sensation  of  fragrance 
varies  with  the  number  of  the  odorous  particles,  but  involves 
as  little  the  notion  of  extension,  as  that  notion  is  involved  in  the 
mere  fragrance  of  a  violet  or  a  rose.  The  connexion  of  this 
original  tactual  feeling,  however,  with  that  of  extension,  is  now 
so  indissoluble,  as,  indeed,  it  could  not  fail  to  become,  in  the  cir- 
cumstance in  which  it  has  uniformly  arisen,  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  conceive  it  as  separate.  We  may  perhaps,  how- 
ever, make  a  near  approach  to  the  conception  of  it,  by  using  the 
gentle  gradual  pressure  of  a  small  pointed  body,  which,  in  the 
various  slight  feelings,  excited  by  it,  —  before  it  penetrate  the 
cuticle,  or  cause  any  considerable  pain,  —  may  represent,  in 
some  measure,  the  simple  and  immediate  effect,  which  pressure 
in  any  case  produces,  —  exclusively  of  the  associate  feehngs 
which  it  indirectly  suggests. 

Those  who  have  the  curiosity  to  try  the  experiment,  with  any 
small  bodies,  not  absolutely  pointed,  —  such  as  the  head  of  a 
pin,  or  any  body  of  similar  dimensions,  —  will  be  astonished  to 
feel,  how  very  slightly,  if  at  all,  the  notion  of  extension,  or 
figure,  is  involved  in  the  feeling,  even  after  all  the  intimate  asso- 
ciations of  our  experience ;  —  certainly  far  less  than  the  notion  of 
longitudinal  distance  seems  to  us  to  be  involved  in  the  immedi- 
ate affections  of  our  sense  of  sight. 

But  the  pressure  of  such  a  large  body  as  the  cube,  which  we 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    377 

have  supposed  to  be  pressed  against  our  organ  of  touch,  now 
awakens  very  different  feelings.  We  perceive,  as  it  were  imme- 
diately, form  and  hardness.  May  not,  then,  the  knowledge  of 
resistance  and  extension,  and  consequently  the  belief  of  the 
essential  qualities  of  matter,  be  originally  communicated  by  the 
affections  of  this  organ? 

The  feeling  of  resistance,  —  to  begin  with  this,  —  is,  I  con- 
ceive, to  be  ascribed,  not  to  our  organ  of  touch,  but  to  our 
muscular  frame,  as  forming  a  distinct  organ  of  sense ;  the  affec- 
tions of  which,  particularly  as  existing  in  combination  with 
other  feelings,  and  modifjdng  our  judgments  concerning  these, 
(as  in  the  case  of  distant  vision,  for  example,)  are  not  less  impor- 
tant than  those  of  our  other  sensitive  organs.  The  sensations  of 
this  class,  are,  indeed,  in  common  circumstances,  so  obscure,  as 
to  be  scarcely  heeded  or  remembered ;  but  there  is  probably  no 
contraction,  even  of  a  single  muscle,  which  is  not  attended  with 
some  faint  degree  of  sensation,  that  distinguishes  it  from  the 
contraction  of  other  muscles,  or  from  other  degrees  of  contrac- 
tion of  the  same  muscle.  Each  motion  of  the  visible  limb, 
whether  produced  by  one  or  more  of  the  invisible  muscles,  is 
accompanied  with  a  certain  feeling,  that  may  be  complex, 
indeed,  as  arising  from  various  muscles,  but  which  is  consid- 
ered by  the  mind  as  one;  and  it  is  this  particular  feeling,  accom- 
panying the  particular  visible  motion,  —  whether  the  feeling 
and  the  invisible  parts  contracted  be  truly  simple  or  compound, 
—  which  we  distinguish  from  every  other  feeling  accompanying 
every  other  quantity  of  contraction.  It  is  as  if  a  man,  born 
blind,  were  to  walk,  for  the  first  time,  in  a  flower  garden.  He 
would  distinguish  the  fragrance  of  one  parterre  from  the  fra- 
grance of  another,  though  he  might  be  altogether  ignorant  oi 
the  separate  odours  united  in  each;  and  might  even  consider 
as  one  simple  perfume,  what  was,  in  truth,  the  mingled  pro- 
duct of  a  thousand. 

Obscure  as  our  muscular  sensations  are  in  common  circum- 
stances, there  are  other  circumstances  in  which  they  make 
themselves  abundantly  manifest.  It  is  sufl5cient  to  refer  to 
phenomena  of  which  every  one  must  have  been  conscious  in- 


378  THOMAS  BROWN 

numerable  times,  and  which  imply  no  disease  nor  lasting  differ- 
ence of  state.  What  is  the  feeling  of  fatigue,  for  example,  but  a 
muscular  feeling?  that  is  to  say,  a  feeling  of  which  our  muscles 
are  as  truly  the  organ,  as  our  eye  or  ear  is  the  organ  of  sight  or 
hearing.  When  a  hmb  has  been  long  exercised,  without  sufl&- 
cient  intervals  of  rest,  the  repetition  of  the  contraction  of  its 
muscles  is  accompanied,  not  with  a  slight  and  obscure  sensa- 
tion, but  with  one  which  amounts,  if  it  be  gradually  increased, 
to  severe  pain,  and  which,  before  it  arrives  at  this,  has  passed 
progressively  through  various  stages  of  uneasiness.  Even  when 
there  has  been  no  previous  fatigue,  we  cannot  make  a  single 
powerful  effort  at  any  time,  without  being  sensible  of  the  mus- 
cular feeling  connected  with  this  effort.  Of  the  pleasure  which 
attends  more  moderate  exercise,  every  one  must  have  been  con- 
scious in  himself,  even  in  his  years  of  maturity,  when  he  seldom 
has  recourse  to  it  for  the  pleasure  alone;  and  must  remember, 
still  more,  the  happiness  which  it  afforded  him  in  other  years, 
when  happiness  was  of  less  costly  and  laborious  production 
than  at  present.  By  that  admirable  provision,  with  which  Na- 
ture accommodates  the  blessings  which  she  gives,  to  the  wants 
that  stand  in  need  of  them,  she  has,  in  that  early  period,  — 
when  the  pleasure  of  mental  freedom,  and  the  ambitions  of 
busy  life,  are  necessarily  excluded,  —  made  ample  amends  to 
the  little  slave  of  affections,  in  that  disposition  to  spontaneous 
pleasure,  which  renders  it  almost  an  effort  to  be  sad,  as  if  exist- 
ence itself  were  delight;  giving  him  a  fund  of  independent  hap- 
piness in  the  very  air  which  she  has  poured  around  him,  and  the 
ready  limbs  which  move  through  it  almost  without  his  bidding. 
In  that  beautiful  passage,  in  which  Goldsmith  describes  the 
sounds  that  come  in  one  mingled  murmur  from  the  village,  who 
does  not  feel  the  force  of  the  happiness  which  is  comprised  in 
the  single  line,  that  speaks  of 

"  The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school  ?  "  ^ 

It  is  not  the  mere  freedom  from  the  intellectual  task,  of  which 

we  think;  it  is  much  more  that  burst  of  animal  pleasure,  which 

^  Deserted  Village,  v.  120. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    379 

is  felt  in  every  limb,  when  the  long  constraint  that  has  repressed 
it  is  removed,  and  the  whole  frame  is  given  once  more  to  all  the 
freedom  of  nature. 

With  the  same  happy  provision  with  which  she  has  consid- 
ered the  young  of  our  own  species,  Nature  has,  in  the  other 
animals,  whose  sources  of  general  pleasure  are  still  more  limited 
than  in  the  child,  converted  their  muscular  frame  into  an  organ 
of  delight.  It  is  not  in  search  of  richer  pasture,  that  the  horse 
gallops  over  his  field,  or  the  goat  leaps  from  rock  to  rock;  it  is 
for  the  luxury  of  the  exercise  itself.  It  is  this  appearance  of 
happy  life  which  spreads  a  charm  over  every  little  group  with 
which  Nature  animates  her  scenery;  and  he  who  can  look  with- 
out interest  on  the  young  lamb,  as  it  frolics  around  the  bush, 
may  gaze,  indeed,  on  the  magnificent  landscape  as  it  opens 
before  him,  — but  it  will  be  with  an  eye  which  looks  languidly, 
and  in  vain,  for  pleasure  which  it  cannot  find. 

Our  muscular  frame  is  not  merely  a  part  of  the  living  ma- 
chinery of  motion,  but  is  also  truly  an  organ  of  sense.  When  I 
move  my  arm,  without  resistance,  I  am  conscious  .of  a  certain 
feeling;  when  the  motion  is  impeded  by  the  presence  of  an  ex- 
ternal body,  I  am  conscious  of  a  different  feeling,  arising  partly, 
indeed,  from  the  mere  sense  of  touch,  in  the  moving  limb  com- 
pressed, but  not  consisting  merely  in  this  compression,  since, 
when  the  same  pressure  is  made  by  a  foreign  force,  without  any 
muscular  effort  on  my  part,  my  general  feeling  is  very  different. 
It  is  the  feeling  of  this  resistance  to  our  progressive  effort, 
(combined,  perhaps,  with  the  mere  tactual  feeling)  which 
forms  what  we  term  our  feeling  of  solidity,  or  hardness;  and  with- 
out it  the  tactual  feeling  would  be  nothing  more  than  a  sensa- 
tion indifferent  or  agreeable,  or  disagreeable  or  severely  pain- 
ful, according  to  the  force  of  the  pressure,  in  the  particular  case; 
in  the  same  way  as  the  matter  of  heat,  acting  in  different  de- 
grees on  this  very  organ  of  touch,  and  on  different  portions  of  its 
surface  at  different  times,  produces  all  the  intermediate  sensa- 
tions, agreeable,  disagreeable,  or  indifferent,  from  the  pain  of 
excessive  cold,  to  the  pain  of  burning;  and  produces  them  in 
like  manner,  without  suggesting  the  presence  of  any  soKd  body 
external  to  ourselves. 


38o  THOMAS  BROWN 

l- 
Were  the  cue,  therefore,  in  the  case  supposed,  pressed  for  the 

first  time  on  me  hand,  it  would  excite  a  certain  sensation,  in- 
deed, but  not  that  of  resistance,  which  always  implies  a  muscu- 
lar effort  that  is  resisted,  and  consequently  not  that  of  hardness 
which  is  a  mode  of  resistance.  It  would  be  very  different,  how- 
ever, if  we  fairly  made  the  attempt  to  press  against  it;  for  then 
our  effort  would  be  impeded,  and  the  consequent  feeling  of 
resistance  would  arise;  which,  as  co-existing  in  this  case,  and  in 
every  case  of  effort,  with  the  particular  sensation  of  touch, 
might  afterwards  be  suggested  by  it,  on  the  simple  recurrence 
of  the  same  sensation  of  touch,  so  as  to  excite  the  notion  of 
hardness  in  the  body  touched,  without  the  renewal  of  any  mus- 
cular effort  on  our  part,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  angular  sur- 
faces of  the  cube,  if  we  chance  to  turn  our  eye  upon  it,  are  sug- 
gested by  the  mere  plane  of  colour,  which  it  presents  to  our 
immediate  vision,  and  which  is  all  that  our  immediate  vision 
would,  of  itself,  have  made  known  to  us.  The  feeling  of  resist- 
ance, then,  it  will  be  admitted,  and  consequently  of  hardness, 
and  all  the  other  modes  of  resistance,  is  a  muscular,  not  a 
tactual  feeling. 


SECTION  11.    SPACE  PERCEPTION 


The  proof,  that  our  perception  of  extension  by  touch,  is  not 
an  original  and  immediate  perception  of  that  sense,  is  alto- 
gether independent  of  the  success  of  any  endeavour  which  may 
be  made,  to  discover  the  elements  of  the  compound  perception. 
It  would  not  be  less  true,  that  touch  does  not  afford  it,  though 
we  should  be  incapable  of  pointing  out  any  source,  from  which 
it  can  be  supposed  to  be  derived. 

To  those  who  are  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  theory  of 
vision,  nothing  certainly  can  seem  more  absurd  than  the  asser- 
tion, that  we  see,  not  with  our  eyes  merely,  but  chiefly  by  the 
medium  of  another  organ,  which  the  blind  possess  in  as  great 
perfection  as  ourselves,  and  which  at  the  moment  of  vision, 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    381 

may  perhaps  be  absolutely  at  rest.  It  will  not  be  surprising, 
therefore,  though  the  element  which  seems  to  me  to  form  the 
most  important  constituent  of  our  notion  of  extension  should  in 
the  same  manner  seem  a  very  unlikely  one. 

This  element  is  our  feeling  of  succession,  or  time,  —  a  feeling, 
which  necessarily  involves  the  notion  of  divisibiUty  or  series  of 
parts,  that  is  so  essential  a  constituent  of  our  more  complex 
notion  of  matter,  —  and  to  which  notion  of  continuous  divisi- 
bihty,  if  the  notion  of  resistance  be  added,  it  is  scarcely  possible 
for  us  to  imagine,  that  we  should  not  have  acquired,  by  this 
union,  the  very  notion  of  physical  extension,  —  that  which  has 
parts,  and  that  which  resists  our  effort  to  grasp  it. 

That  memory  is  a  part  of  our  mental  constitution,  and  that  * 
we  are  thus  capable  of  thinking  of  a  series  of  feelings,  as  succes- 
sive to  each  other,  the  experience  of  every  moment  teaches  us 
sufficiently.  This  succession  frequently  repeated,  suggests  im-. '«    .^^  , 
mediately,  or  implies  the  notion  of  length,  not  metaphorically,  ^^  "^ 
as  is  commonly  said,  but  as  absolutely  as  extension  itself;  and,!^^/    - 
the  greater  the  number  of  the  successive  feelings  may  have 
been,  the  greater  does  this  length  appear.  It  is  not  possible  for      . 
us  to  look  back  on  the  years  of  our  life,  since  they  form  truly  a   "^-^K^ 
progressive  series,  without  regarding  them  as  a  sort  of  length,  ''^\.f ," 
which  is  more  distinct  indeed,  the  nearer  the  succession  of  feel-,  y-        . 
ings,  may  be  to  the  moment  at  which  we  consider  them,  but   ''^/  -' 
which,  however  remote,  is  still  felt  by  us  as  one  continued  length,  : 
in  the  same  manner,  as  when,  after  a  journey  of  many  hundred      ^^'-t.4 
miles,  we  look  back,  in  our  memory,  on  the  distance  over  which 
we  have  passed,  we  see,  as  it  were,  a  long  track  of  which  some 
parts,  particularly  the  nearer  parts,  are  sufficiently  distinct,  but 
of  which  the  rest  seems  lost  in  a  sort  of  distant  obscurity.  The 
line  of  our  long  journeying,  —  or,  in  other  words,  that  almost 
immeasurable  hne  of  plains,  hills,  declivities,  marshes,  bridges, 
woods,  —  to  endeavour  to  comprehend  which  in  our  thought, 
seems  an  effort  as  fatiguing  as  the  very  journey  itself,  —  we 
know  well,  can  be  divided,  into  those  various  parts;  and,  in  like 
manner,  the  progressive  line  of  time  —  or,  in  other  words,  the 
continued  succession,  of  which  the  joy,  the  hope,  the  fragrance, 


382  THOMAS  BROWN 

the  regret,  the  melody,  the  fear,  and  innumerable  other  affec- 
tions of  the  mind,  were  parts,  we  feel  that  we  can  mentally 
divide  into  those  separate  portions  of  the  train.  Continuous 
length  and  divisibility,  those  great  elementary  notions  of  space, 
and  of  all  that  space  contains,  are  thus  found  in  every  succes- 
sion of  our  feelings.  There  is  no  language  in  which  time  is  not 
described  as  long  or  short,  —  not  from  any  metaphor  —  for  no 
mere  arbitrary  metaphor  can  be  thus  universal  and  inevitable, 
as  a  form  of  human  thought  —  but  because  it  is  truly  impos- 
sible for  us  to  consider  succession,  without  this  notion  of  pro- 
gressive divisibility  attached  to  it;  and  it  appears  to  us  as  ab- 
surd to  suppose,  that  by  adding,  to  our  retrospect  of  a  week, 
*  the  events  of  the  month  preceding,  we  do  not  truly  lengthen  the 
succession,  as  it  would  be  to  suppose,  that  we  do  not  lengthen 
the  Une  of  actual  distance,  by  adding,  to  the  few  last  stages  of  a 
long  journey,  the  many  stages  that  preceded  it. 

That  which  is  progressive  must  have  parts.  Time,  or  succes- 
sion, then  involves  the  very  notions  of  longitudinal  extension 
and  divisibility,  and  involves  these,  without  the  notion  of  any 
thing  external  to  the  mind  itself;  —  for  though  the  mind  of 
man  had  been  susceptible  only  of  joy,  grief,  fear,  hope,  and  the 
other  varieties  of  internal  feeling,  without  the  possibility  of 
being  affected  by  external  things,  he  would  still  have  been  capa- 
ble of  considering  these  feelings,  as  successive  to  each  other,  in  a 
long  continued  progression,  divisible  into  separate  parts.  The 
notions  of  length,  then,  and  of  divisibility,  are  not  confined  to 
external  things,  but  are  involved  in  that  very  memory,  by 
which  we  consider  the  series  of  the  past,  —  not  in  the  memory 
of  distant  events  only,  but  in  those  first  successions  of  feeling, 
by  which  the  mind  originally  became  conscious  of  its  own  per- 
manence and  identity.  The  notion  of  time,  then,  is  precisely 
fVj;oeval  with  that  of  the  mind  itself;  since  it  is  implied  in  the 
knowledge  of  succession,  by  which  alone  the  mind  acquires  the 
knowledge  of  its  own  reality,  as  something  more  than  the  mere 
sensation  of  the  present  moment. 

Conceiving  the  notion  of  time,  therefore,  that  is  to  say,  of 
feelings  past  and  present,  to  be  thus  one  of  the  earliest  notions 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    383 

which  the  infant  mind  can  form,  so  as  to  precede  its  notions  of 
external  things,  and  to  involve  the  notions  of  length  and  divisi- 
bility, I  am  inclined  to  reverse  exactly  the  process  commonly 
supposed;  and,  instead  of  deriving  the  measure  of  time  from 
extension,  to  derive  the  knowledge  and  original  measure  of 
extension  from  time.  That  one  notion  or  feeling  of  the  mind 
may  be  united  indissolubly  with  other  feehngs,  with  which  it 
has  frequently  co-existed,  and  to  which,  but  for  this  co-exist- 
ence, it  would  seem  to  have  no  common  relation,  is  sufficiently 
shown  by  the  phenomena  of  vision. 

In  what  manner,  however,  is  the  notion  of  time  peculiarly 
associated  with  the  simple  sensation  of  touch,  so  as  to  form, 
with  it,  the  perception  of  extension?  We  are  able,  in  the  theory 
of  vision,  to  point  out  the  co-existence  of  sensations  which  pro- 
duce the  subsequent  union,  that  renders  the  perception  of  dis- 
tance apparently  immediate.  If  a  similar  co-existence  of  the 
original  sensations  of  touch,  with  the  notion  of  continued  and 
divisible  succession,  cannot  be  pointed  out  in  the  present  case, 
the  opinion  which  asserts  it,  must  be  considered  merely  as  a 
wild  and  extravagant  conjecture. 

The  source  of  such  a  co-existence  is  not  merely  to  be  found, 
but  is  at  least  as  obvious,  as  that  which  is  universally  admitted 
in  the  case  of  vision. 

To  proceed,  then,  —  The  hand  is  the  great  organ  of  touch. 
It  is  composed  of  various  articulations,  that  are  easily  move- 
able, so  as  to  adapt  it  readily  to  changes  of  shape,  in  accommo- 
dation to  the  shape  of  the  bodies  which  it  grasps.  If  we  shut 
our  hand  gradually,  or  open  it  gradually,  we  find  a  certain 
series  of  feelings,  varying  with  each  degree  of  the  opening  or 
closing,  and  giving  the  notion  of  succession  of  a  certain  length. 
In  like  manner,  if  we  gradually  extend  our  arms,  in  various 
directions,  or  bring  them  nearer  to  us  again,  we  find  that  each 
degree  of  the  motion  is  accompanied  with  a  feeling  that  is  dis- 
tinct, so  as  to  render  us  completely  conscious  of  the  progres- 
sion. The  gradual  closing  of  the  hand,  therefore,  must  neces- 
sarily give  a  succession  of  feelings,  —  a  succession,  which,  of 
itself,  might,  or  rather  must,  furnish  the  notion  of  length  in  the 


384  THOMAS  BROWN 

manner  before  stated,  the  length  being  different,  according  to 
the  degree  of  the  closing;  and  the  gradual  stretching  out  of  the 
arm  gives  a  succession  of  feelings,  which,  in  like  manner,  must 
furnish  the  notion  of  length,  —  the  length  being  different  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  of  the  stretching  of  the  arm.  To  those 
who  have  had  opportunities  of  observing  infants,  I  need  not 
say,  how  much  use,  or  rather  what  constant  use,  the  future 
inquirer  makes  of  his  little  fingers  and  arms;  by  the  frequent 
contraction  of  which,  and  the  consequent  renewal  of  the  series 
of  feelings  involved  in  each  gradual  contraction,  he  cannot  fail 
to  become  so  well  acquainted  with  the  progress,  as  to  distin- 
guish each  degree  of  contraction,  and,  at  last,  after  innumerable 
repetitions,  to  associate  with  each  degree  the  notion  of  a  certain 
length  of  succession.  The  particular  contraction,  therefore, 
when  thus  often  repeated,  becomes  the  representative  of  a  cer- 
tain length,  in  the  same  manner  as  shades  of  colour  in  vision 
become  ultimately  representative  of  distance,  —  the  same  prin- 
ciple of  association,  which  forms  the  combination  in  the  one 
case,  operating  equally  in  the  other. 

In  these  circumstances  of  acquired  knowledge,  —  after  the 
series  of  muscular  feelings,  in  the  voluntary  closing  of  the  hand, 
has  become  so  familiar,  that  the  whole  series  is  anticipated  and 
expected,  as  soon  as  the  motion  has  begun,  —  when  a  ball,  or 
any  other  substance,  is  placed  for  the  first  time  in  the  infant's 
hand,  he  feels  that  he  can  no  longer  perform  the  usual  con- 
traction, —  or,  in  other  words,  since  he  does  not  fancy  that  he 
has  muscles  which  are  contracted,  he  feels  that  the  usual  series 
of  sensations  does  not  follow  his  will  to  renew  it,  —  he  knows 
how  much  of  the  accustomed  succession  is  still  remaining;  and 
the  notion  of  this  particular  length,  which  was  expected,  and 
interrupted  by  a  new  sensation,  is  thus  associated  with  the  par- 
ticular tactual  feeling  excited  by  the  pressure  of  the  ball,  —  the 
greater  or  less  magnitude  of  the  ball  preventing  a  greater  or 
less  portion  of  the  series  of  feelings  in  the  accustomed  contrac- 
tion. By  the  frequent  repetition  of  this  tactual  feeling,  as  asso- 
ciated with  that  feeling  which  attends  a  certain  progress  of  con- 
traction, the  two  feelings  at  last  flow  together,  as  in  the 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    385 

acquired  perceptions  of  vision;  and  when  the  process  has  been 
repeated  with  various  bodies  innumerable  times,  it  becomes,  at 
last,  as  impossible  to  separate  the  mere  tactual  feeling  from  the 
feeling  of  length,  as  to  separate  the  whiteness  of  a  sphere,  in 
vision,  from  that  convexity  of  the  sphere,  which  the  eye,  of  it- 
self, would  have  been  for  ever  incapable  of  perceiving. 

As  yet,  however,  the  only  dimension  of  the  knowledge  of 
which  we  have  traced  the  origin,  is  mere  length;  and  it  must 
still  be  explained,  how  we  acquire  the  knowledge  of  the  other 
dimensions.  If  we  had  had  but  one  muscle,  it  seems  to  me  very 
doubtful  whether  it  would  have  been  possible  for  us  to  have 
associated  with  touch  any  other  notion  than  that  of  mere 
length.  But  nature  has  made  provision  for  giving  us  a  wider 
knowledge,  in  the  various  muscles,  which  she  has  distributed 
over  different  parts,  so  as  to  enable  us  to  perform  motions  in 
various  directions  at  the  same  instant,  and  thus  to  have  co- 
existing series  of  feelings,  each  of  which  series  was  before  con- 
sidered as  involving  the  notion  of  length.  The  infant  bends  one 
finger  gradually  on  the  palm  of  his  hand;  the  finger,  thus 
brought  down,  touches  one  part  of  the  surface  of  the  palm, 
producing  a  certain  affection  of  the  organ  of  touch,  and  a  con- 
sequent sensation;  and  he  acquires  the  notion  of  a  certain  length, 
in  the  remembered  succession  of  muscular  feelings  during  the 
contraction;  —  he  bends  another  finger;  it,  too,  touches  a  cer- 
tain part  of  the  surface  of  the  palm,  producing  a  certain  feeling 
of  touch,  that  co-exists  and  combines,  in  like  manner,  with  the 
remembrance  of  a  certain  succession  of  muscular  feelings. 
When  both  fingers  move  together,  the  co-existence  of  the  two 
series  of  successive  feelings,  with  each  of  which  the  mind  is 
familiar,  gives  the  notion  of  co-existing  lengths,  which  receive 
a  sort  of  unity,  from  the  proximity  in  succession  of  the  tactual 
feelings  in  the  contiguous  parts  of  the  palm  which  they  touch,  — 
feelings,  which  have  before  been  found  to  be  proximate,  when 
the  palm  has  been  repeatedly  pressed  along  a  surface,  and  the 
tactual  feelings  of  these  parts,  which  the  closing  fingers  touch 
at  the  same  moment,  were  always  immediately  successive,  — 
as  immediately  successive,  as  any  of  the  muscular  feelings  in 


386  THOMAS  BROWN 

the  series  of  contraction.  When  a  body  is  placed  in  the  infant's 
hand,  and  its  little  fingers  are  bent  by  it  as  before,  sometimes 
one  finger  only  is  impeded  in  its  progress,  sometimes  two,  some- 
times three,  —  and  he  thus  adds  to  the  notion  of  mere  length, 
which  would  have  been  the  same,  whatever  number  of  fingers 
had  been  impeded,  the  notion  of  a  certain  number  of  proximate 
and  co-existing  lengths,  which  is  the  very  notion  of  breadth; 
and  with  these,  according  as  the  body  is  larger  or  smaller,  is 
combined  always  the  tactual  affection  produced  by  the  press- 
ure of  the  body,  on  more,  or  fewer,  of  the  interior  parts  of  the 
palm,  and  fingers,  which  had  before  become,  of  themselves, 
representative  of  certain  lengths,  in  the  manner  described;  and 
the  concurrence  of  these  three  varieties  of  length,  in  the  single 
feeling  of  resistance,  in  which  they  all  seem  to  meet,  when  an 
incompressible  body  is  placed  within  the  sphere  of  the  clos- 
ing fingers,  —  however  rude  the  notions  of  concurring  dimen- 
sions may  be,  or  rather  must  be,  as  at  first  formed,  —  seems  at 
least  to  afford  the  rude  elements,  from  which,  by  the  frequent 
repetition  of  the  feeling  of  resistance,  together  with  the  prox- 
imate lengths,  of  which  it  has  become  representative,  clearer 
notions  of  the  kind  may  gradually  arise. 

The  progressive  contractions  of  the  various  muscles  which 
move  the  arms  as  affording  similar  successions  of  feelings,  may 
be  considered  in  precisely  the  same  light,  as  sources  of  the 
knowledge  of  extension;  and,  by  their  motion  in  various  direc- 
tions, at  the  same  time  with  the  motion  of  the  fingers,  they 
concur  powerfully,  in  modifying,  and  correcting,  the  informa- 
tion received  from  these.  The  whole  hand  is  brought,  by  the 
motion  of  the  arm,  to  touch  one  part  of  the  face  or  body;  it  is 
then  moved,  so  as  to  touch  another  part,  and  with  the  frequent 
succession  of  the  simple  feelings  of  touch,  in  these  parts,  is  asso- 
ciated the  feeling  of  the  intervening  lengthy  derived  from  the 
sensations  that  accompanied  the  progressive  contraction  of  the 
arm.  But  the  motion  is  not  always  the  same;  and,  as  the  same 
feeling  of  touch,  in  one  part,  is  thus  followed  by  various  feelings 
of  touch  in  different  parts,  with  various  series  of  muscular  feel- 
ings between,  the  notion  of  length  in  various  directions,  that  is 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    387 

to  say,  of  length  in  various  series  commencing  from  one  power, 
is  obtained  in  another  way.  That  the  knowledge  of  extension, 
or  in  other  words,  the  association  of  the  notion  of  succession 
with  the  simple  feelings  of  touch,  will  be  rude  and  indistinct  at 
first,  I  have  already  admitted;  but  it  will  gradually  become 
more  and  more  distinct  and  precise ;  as  we  can  have  no  doubt, 
that  the  perception  of  distance  by  the  eye  is,  in  the  first  stages 
of  visual  association,  very  indistinct,  and  becomes  clearer  after 
each  repeated  trial.  For  many  weeks  or  months,  all  is  confu- 
sion in  the  visual  perceptions,  as  much  as  in  the  tactual  and 
muscular.  Indeed,  we  have  abundant  evidence  of  this  contin- 
ued progress  of  vision,  even  in  mature  life,  when,  in  certain 
professions  that  require  nice  perceptions  of  distance,  the  power 
of  perception  itself,  by  the  gradual  acquisitions  which  it  ob- 
tains from  experience,  seems  to  unfold  itself  more  and  more,  in 
proportion  to  the  wants  that  require  it. 

It  may  be  thought  that  the  notion  of  time, or  succession,  is,  in 
this  instance,  a  superfluous  incumbrance  of  the  theory,  and  that 
the  same  advantage  might  be  obtained,  by  supposing  the  mus- 
cular feelings  themselves,  independently  of  the  notion  of  their 
succession,  to  be  connected  with  the  notion  of  particular 
lengths.  But  this  opinion,  it  must  be  remarked,  would  leave 
the  difficulty  precisely  as  before ;  and  sufficient  evidence  in  con- 
futation of  it,  may  be  found  in  a  very  simple  experiment,  which 
it  is  in  the  power  of  any  one  to  make.  The  experiment  I  cannot 
but  consider  as  of  the  more  value,  since  it  seems  to  me  strongly 
corroborative  of  the  theory  which  I  have  ventured  to  propose ; 
for  it  shows,  that,  even  after  all  the  acquisitions  which  our 
sense  of  touch  has  made,  the  notion  of  extension  is  still  modi- 
fied, in  a  manner  the  most  striking  and  irresistible,  by  the  mere 
change  of  accustomed  time.  Let  any  one,  with  his  eyes  shut, 
move  his  hand,  with  moderate  velocity,  along  a  part  of  a  table, 
or  any  other  hard  smooth  surface;  the  portion  over  which  he 
presses,  will  appear  of  a  certain  length;  let  him  move  his  hand 
more  rapidly,  the  portion  of  the  surface  pressed  will  appear 
less;  let  him  move  his  hand  very  slowly,  and  the  length,  accord- 
ing to  the  degree  of  the  slowness,  will  appear  increased,  in  a 


388  THOMAS  BROWN 

most  wonderful  proportion.  In  this  case,  there  is  precisely  the 
same  quantity  of  muscular  contraction,  and  the  same  quantity 
of  the  organ  of  touch  compressed,  whether  the  motion  be  rapid, 
moderate,  or  slow.  The  only  circumstance  of  difference  is  the 
time  occupied  in  the  succession  of  the  feelings;  and  this  differ- 
ence is  sufficient  to  give  complete  diversity  to  the  notion  of 
length. 

If  any  one,  with  his  eyes  shut,  suffer  his  hand  to  be  guided  by 
another,  very  slowly  along  any  surface  unknown  to  him, he  will 
find  it  impossible  to  form  any  accurate  guess  as  to  its  length. 
But  it  is  not  necessary,  that  we  should  be  previously  unac- 
quainted with  the  extent  of  surface,  along  which  the  motion  is 
performed;  for  the  illusion  will  be  nearly  the  same,  and  the 
experiment,  of  course,  be  still  more  striking,  when  the  motion  is 
along  a  surface  with  which  we  are  perfectly  familiar,  as  a  book 
which  we  hold  in  our  hand,  or  a  desk  at  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  sit. 

This  experiment  is  well  fitted  to  show  the  influence  of  mere 
difference  of  time,  in  our  estimation  of  longitudinal  extent.  It 
is  an  experiment,  tried,  unquestionably,  in  most  unfavourable 
circumstances,  when  our  tactual  feelings,  representative  of  ex- 
tension, are  so  strongly  fixed,  by  the  long  experience  of  our 
life;  and  yet,  even  now,  it  will  be  found,  on  moving  the  hand, 
slowly  and  rapidly,  along  the  same  extent  of  surface,  though 
with  precisely  the  same  degree  of  pressure  in  both  cases,  that 
it  is  as  difficult  to  conceive  the  extent,  thus  slowly  and  rapidly 
traversed,  to  be  the  same,  as  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  the  extent 
of  visual  distance  to  be  exactly  the  same  when  we  look  alternately 
through  the  different  ends  of  an  inverted  telescope.  If,  when  all 
other  circumstances  are  the  same,  the  different  visual  feelings, 
arising  from  difference  of  the  mere  direction  of  light,  be  repre- 
sentative of  length  in  the  one  case,  —  the  longer  or  shorter  suc- 
cession of  time,  when  all  other  circumstances  are  the  same,  has 
surely  as  much  reason  to  be  considered  a  representative  of  it, 
in  the  other  case. 

Are  we,  then,  to  believe,  that  feeling  of  extension,  or  in 
other  words,  of   the  definite  figure  of   bodies,  is  a  simple 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    389 

feeling  of  touch,  immediate,  original,  and  independent  of 
time;  or  is  there  not  rather  reason  to  think,  that  it  is  a 
compound  feeling,  of  which  time,  that  is  to  say,  our  notion 
of  succession,  is  an  original  element  ?  -£^  . 

PART  III  —  l?'^'l|UtA  (.oWAXt 


CHAPTER  I.    SECTION  II.    SIMPLE  AND  RELA- 
TIVE SUGGESTION 


Our  various  states  or  aJBFections  of  the  mind,  I  have  already- 
divided  into  two  classes,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  circum- 
stances which  precede  them,  —  the  External  and  the  Internal, 
—  and  this  latter  class  into  two  orders,  —  our  Intellectual 
States  of  Mind,  and  our  Emotions.  It  is  with  the  intellectual 
phenomena  that  we  are  at  present  concerned ;  and  this  order  I 
would  arrange  under  two  generic  capacities,  that  appear  to  me 
to  comprehend  or  exhaust  the  phenomena  of  the  order.  The 
whole  order,  as  composed  of  feelings  which  arise  immediately, 
in  consequence  of  certain  former  feelings  of  the  mind  may  be 
technically  termed,  in  reference  to  these  feelings  which  have 
induced  them,  Suggestions;  but,  in  the  suggested  feelings  them- 
selves, there  is  one  striking  difference.  If  we  analyze  out  trains 
of  intellectual  thought  exclusively  of  the  Emotions  which  may 
co-exist  or  mingle  with  them,  and  of  sensations  that  may  be 
accidentally  excited  by  external  objects,  we  shall  find  them  to 
be  composed  of  two  very  distinct  sets  of  feelings,  —  one  set  of 
which  are  mere  conceptions  or  images  of  the  past,  that  rise, 
image  after  image  in  regular  sequence,  but  simply  in  succession, 
without  any  feeling  of  relation  necessarily  involved,  —  while  the 
perceptions  of  relation,  in  the  various  objects  of  our  thought, 
form  another  set  of  feelings,  of  course  as  various  as  the  relations 
perceived.  Conceptions  and  relations,  —  it  is  with  these,  and 
with  these  alonei  that  we  are  inteTIectually  conversant.  There 
is  thus  an  evident  ground  for  the  arrangement  of  the  internal 
suggestions,  that  form  our  trains  of  thought,  under  two  heads, 


390  THOMAS  BROWN 

according  as  the  feelingexcited  directly  by  some  former  feeling. 
may  be  either  a  simple  concepHon,  in  its  turn,  perhaps,  giving 
place  to  some  other  conception  as  transient;  or  may  be,  the 
feeling  of  a  relation  which  two  or  more  objects  of  our  thought 
re  considered  byHs  as  bearing  to  each  other.  There  is,  in 
short,  in  the  mind,  a  capacity  of  association;  or,  as  for  reasons 
afterwards  to  be  stated,  I  would  rather  term  it,  —  the  capacity 
of  Simple  Suggestion,  —  by  which  feeUngs  formerly  existing, 
are  revived,  in  consequence  of  the  mere  existence  of  other  feel- 
ings, as  there  is  also  a  capacity  of  feeUng  resemblance,  differ- 
ence, proportion,  or  relation  in  general,  when  two  or  more 
external  objects,  or  two  or  more  feelings  of  the  mind  itself,  are 
considered  by  us,  —  which  mental  capacity,  in  distinction 
from  the  former,  I  would  term  the  capacity  of  Relative  Sugges- 
tion; and  of  these  simple  and  relative  suggestions,  the  whole  of 
our  intellectual  trains  of  thought  are  composed.  As  I  am  no 
lover  of  new  phrases,  when  the  old  can  be  used  without  danger 
of  mistake,  I  would  very  willingly  substitute  for  the  phrase, 
relative  suggestion,  the  term  comparison,  which  is  more  familiar, 
and  expresses  very  nearly  the  same  meaning.  But  comparison, 
though  it  involve  the  feeling  of  relation,  seems  also  to  imply  a 
voluntary  seeking  for  some  relation,  which  is  far  from  necessary 
to  the  mere  internal  suggestion  or  feeling  of  the  relation  itself. 
The  resemblance  of  two  objects  strikes  me,  indeed,  when  I  am 
studiously  comparing  them;  but  it  strikes  me  also,  with  not  less 
force,  on  many  other  occasions,  when  I  had  not  previously  been 
forming  the  slightest  intentional  comparison.  I  prefer,  there- 
fore, a  term  which  is  applicable  alike  to  both  cases,  when  a  rela- 
tion is  sought,  and  when  it  occurs,  without  any  search  or  desire 
of  finding  it. 

The  term  judgment,  in  its  strict  philosophic  sense,  as  the  mere 
perception  of  relation,  is  more  exactly  synonymous  with  the 
phrase  which  I  have  employed,  and  might  have  been  substi- 
tuted with  safety,  if  the  vulgar  use  of  the  term,  in  many  vague 
significations,  had  not  given  some  degree  of  indistinctness  even 
to  the  philosophical  use  of  it.  I  may  remark,  too,  that  in  our 
works  of  logic  and  intellectual  physiology,  judgment  and  reason- 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    391 

ing  are  usually  discussed  separately,  as  if  there  were  some  es- 
sential difference  of  their  nature;  and,  therefore,  since  I  include 
them  both,  in  the  relative  suggestions  of  which  I  shall  after- 
wards have  to  treat,  it  seems  advisable,  not  to  employ  for  the 
whole,  a  name  which  is  already  appropriated,  and  very  gener- 
ally limited,  to  a  part.  As  the  rise  in  the  mind  of  the  feeling  of 
relation,  from  the  mere  perception  or  conception  of  objects,  is 
however,  what  I  mean  to  denote  by  the  phrase  Relative  Sugges- 
tion; and  djs>  judgment,  in  its  strictest  sense,  is  nothing  more  than 
this  feeling  of  relation,  —  or  any  two  or  more  objects,  consid- 
ered by  us  together,  —  I  shall  make  no  scruple  to  use  the 
shorter  and  more  familiar  term,  as  synonymous  when  there  can 
be  no  danger  of  its  being  misunderstood. 

The  intellectual  states  of  the  mind,  then,  to  give  a  brief  illus- 
tration of  my  division,  I  consider  as  all  referable  to  two  generic 
susceptibilities,  —  those  of  Simple  Suggestion  and  Relative  Sug- 
gestion. Our  perception  or  conception  of  one  object  excites,  of  f 
itself,  and  without  any  known  cause,  external  to  the  mind,  the 
conception  of  some  other  object,  as  when  the  mere  sound  of  our 
friend's  name,  suggests  to  us  the  conception  of  our  friend  him- 
self, —  in  which  case,  the  conception  of  our  friend,  which  fol- 
lows the  perception  of  the  sound,  involves  no  feeling  of  any 
common  property  with  the  sound  which  excites  it,  but  is  pre- 
cisely the  same  state  of  mind,  which  might  have  been  induced, 
by  various  other  previous  circumstances,  by  the  sight  of  the 
chair  on  which  he  sat,  —  of  the  book  which  he  read  to  us,  —  of 
the  landscape  which  he  painted.   This  is  Simple  Suggestion. 

But,  together  with  this  capacity  of  Simple  Suggestion,  by 
which  conception  after  conception  arises  in  the  mind,  —  pre- 
cisely in  the  same  manner,  and  in  the  same  state,  as  each 
might  have  formed  a  part  of  other  trains,  and  in  which  the  par- 
ticular state  of  mind  that  arises  by  suggestion  does  not  neces- 
sarily involve  any  consideration  of  the  state  of  mind  which  pre- 
ceded it,  —  there  is  a  suggestion  of  a  very  different  sort,  which 
in  every  case  involves  the  consideration,  not  of  one  phenome- 
non of  mind,  but  of  two  or  more  phenomena,  and  which  con- 
stitutes the  feeling  of  agreement,  disagreement,  or  relation  of 


392  THOMAS  BROWN 

some  sort.  I  perceive,  for  example,  a  horse  and  a  sheep  at  the 
same  moment.  The  perception  of  the  two  is  followed  by  that 
dififerent  state  of  mind  which  constitutes  the  feeling  of  their 
agreement  in  certain  respects,  or  of  their  disagreement  in  cer- 
tain other  respects.  I  think  of  the  square  of  the  hypotenuse  of  a 
right-angled  triangle,  and  of  the  squares  of  the  two  other  sides; 
—  I  feel  the  relation  of  equality.  I  see  a  dramatic  representa- 
tion; I  listen  to  the  cold  conceits  which  the  author  of  the  trag- 
edy, in  his  omnipotent  command  over  warriors  and  lovers  of  his 
own  creation,  gives  to  his  hero,  in  his  most  impassioned  situa- 
tions; —  I  am  instantly  struck  with  their  unsuitableness  to  the 
character  and  the  circumstances.  All  the  intellectual  succes- 
sions of  feeling,  in  these  cases,  which  constitute  the  perception 
of  relation,  differ  from  the  results  of  simple  suggestion  in  neces- 
sarily involving  the  consideration  of  two  or  more  objects  or 
affections  of  mind,  that  immediately  preceded  them.  I  may 
think  of  my  friend,  in  the  case  of  simple  suggestion,  —  that  is 
to  say,  my  mind  may  exist  in  the  state  which  constitutes  the 
conception  of  my  friend,  without  that  previous  state  which 
constitutes  the  perception  of  the  sound  of  his  name;  for  the 
conception  of  him  may  be  suggested  by  various  objects  and 
remembrances.  But  I  cannot  in  the  cases  of  relative  suggestion,  y^ 
think  of  the  resemblance  of  a  horse  and  a  sheep;  of  the  propor-  * 
tion  of  the  squares  of  the  sides  of  a  right-angled  triangle;  or  of 
the  want  of  the  truth  of  nature  in  the  expressions  of  a  dramatic 
hero,  without  those  previous  states  of  mind,  which  constitute 
the  conceptions  of  a  horse  and  a  sheep  —  of  the  sides  of  the 
triangle,  —  or  of  the  language  of  the  -vy^rrior  or  lover,  and  the 
circumstances  of  triumph,  or  hope,  or"^spair,  in  which  he  is 
exhibited  to  us  by  the  creative  artist. 

With  these  two  capacities  of  suggested  feelings,  simple  and 
relative,  which  are  all  that  truly  belong  to  the  class  of  intel- 
lectual states  of  the  mind,  —  various  emotions  may  concur,  par- 
ticularly that  most  general  of  all  emotions,  the  emotion  of 
desire,  in  some  one  or  other  of  its  various  forms.  According  as 
this  desire  does  or  does  not  concur  with  them,  the  intellectual 
states  themselves  appear  to  be  different;  and,  by  those  who  do 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    393 

not  make  the  necessary  analysis,  are  supposed,  therefore,  to  be 
indicative  of  different  powers.  By  simple  suggestion,  the 
images  of  things,  persons,  events,  pass  in  strange  and  rapid 
succession;  and  a  variety  of  names,  expressive  of  different 
j)owers,  —  conception,  association,  memory,  —  have  been 
given  to  this  one  simple  law  of  our  intellectual  nature.  But, 
when  we  wish  to  remember  some  object;  that  is  to  say,  when 
we  wish  our  mind  to  be  affected  in  that  particular  manner, 
which  constitutes  the  conception  of  a  particular  thing,  or  per- 
son, or  event,  —  or  when  we  wish  to  combine  new  images,  in 
some  picture  of  fancy,  this  co-existence  of  desire,  with  the 
simple  course  of  suggestion,  which  continues  still  to  follow  its 
own  laws,  as  much  as  when  no  desire  existed  with  it,  —  seems 
to  render  the  suggestion  itself  different;  and  recollection,  and 
imagination,  or  fancy,  which  are  truly,  as  we  shall  afterwards 
find,  nothing  more  than  the  union  of  the  suggested  conceptions 
with  certain  specific  permanent  desires,  are  to  us,  as  it  were, 
distinct  additional  powers  of  our  mind,  and  are  so  arranged  in 
the  systems  of  philosophers,  who  have  not  made  the  very  sim- 
ple analysis,  which  alone  seems  to  be  necessary  for  a  more  pre- 
cise arrangement. 

In  like  manner,  those  suggestions  of  another  class,  which 
constitute  our  notions  of  proportion,  resemblance,  difference, 
and  all  the  variety  of  relations,  may  arise,  when  we  have  had 
no  previous  desire  of  tracing  the  relations,  or  may  arise  after 
that  previous  desire.  But,  when  the  feelings  of  relation  seem  to 
us  to  arise  spontaneously,  they  are  not  in  themselves  different 
from  the  feelings  of  relation,  that  arise,  in  our  intentional  com- 
parisons or  judgments,  in  the  longest  series  of  ratiocination. 
Of  such  ratiocination,  they  are  truly  the  most  important  ele- 
ments. The  permanent  desire  of  discovering  something  un- 
known, or  of  establishing,  or  confuting,  or  illustrating,  some 
point  of  belief  or  conjecture,  may  co-exist,  indeed,  with  the  con- 
tinued series  of  relations  that  are  felt,  but  does  not  alter  the 
nature  of  that  law,  by  which  these  judgments,  or  relative  sug- 
gestions, succeed  each  other. 

There  is  no  power  to  be  found,  but  only  the  union  of  certain 


394  THOMAS  BROWN 

intellectual  states  of  the  mind,  with  certain  desires,  —  a  species 
of  combination  not  more  wonderful  in  itself,  than  any  other 
complex  mental  state,  as  when  we,  at  the  same  moment,  see 
and  smell  a  rose,  —  or  listen  to  the  voice  of  a  friend,  who  has 
been  long  absent  from  us,  and  see,  at  the  same  moment,  that 
face  of  affection,  which  is  again  giving  confidence  to  our  heart, 
and  gladness  to  our  very  eyes. 

Our  intellectual  states  of  mind,  then,  are  either  those  resem- 
blances of  past  affections  of  the  mind,  which  arise  by  simple 
suggestion,  or  those  feehngs  of  relation,  which  arise  by  what  I 
have  termed  relative  suggestions,  —  the  one  set  resulting,  in- 
deed, from  some  prior  states  of  the  mind,  but  not  involving, 
necessarily,  any  consideration  of  these  previous  states  of  mind, 
which  suggested  them,  —  the  other  set,  necessarily  involving 
the  consideration  of  two  or  more  objects,  or  two  or  more  affec- 
tions of  mind,  as  subjects  of  the  relation  which  is  felt. 


JOHANN  FRIEDRIGH  HERBART 

(1776-1841) 

A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  German  '^  by 
MARGARET    K.    SMITH 

PART  FIRST.    FUNDAMENTAL  PRINCIPLES 

CHAPTER  L    THE  CONDITION  OF  CONCEPTS, 
WHEN  THEY  ACT  AS  FORCES 

10.  Concepts  become  forces  when  they  resist  one  another. 
This  resistance  occurs  when  two  or  more  opposed  concepts 
encounter  one  another. 

At  first  let  us  take  this  proposition  as  simply  as  possible.  In 
this  connection,  therefore,  we  shall  not  think  of  complex  nor  of 
compound  concepts  of  any  kind  whatever ;  nor  of  such  as  indi- 
cate an  object  with  several  characteristics,  neither  of  anything 
in  time  nor  space,  but  of  entirely  simple  concepts  or  sensations 
—  e.g.,  red,  blue,  sour,  sweet,  etc.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  con- 
sider the  general  notions  of  the  above-mentioned  sensations, 
but  to  consider  such  representations  as  may  result  from  an 
instantaneous  act  of  sense-perception. 

Again,  the  question  concerning  the  origin  of  the  sensations 
mentioned  does  not  belong  here,  much  less  has  the  discussion 
to  do  with  the  consideration  of  anything  else  that  might  have 
previously  existed  or  occurred  in  the  soul. 

The  proposition  as  it  stands  is  that  opposed  concepts  resist 
one  another.  Concepts  that  are  not  opposed  —  e.g.,  a  tone  and 
a  color  —  may  exist,  in  which  case  it  will  be  assumed  that  such 

*  From  Lehrhiich  zer  Psychologic,  Lpg.,  1816;  3  Aufl.  1882.  Reprinted  here 
from  J.  F.  Herbart's  A  Text-Book  in  Psychology,  translated  by  M.  K.  Smith, 
New  York,  D,  Appleton  &  Co.,  1891. 


396       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

concepts  offer  no  resistance  to  one  another.  (Exceptions  to  this 
latter  proposition  may  occur,  of  which  more  hereafter.) 

Resistance  is  an  expression  of  force.  To  the  resisting  con- 
cept, however,  its  action  is  quite  accidental;  it  adjusts  itself  to 
the  attack  which  is  mutual  among  concepts,  and  which  is  deter- 
mined by  the  degree  of  opposition  existing  between  them.  This 
opposition  may  be  regarded  as  that  by  which  they  are  affected 
collectively.   In  themselves,  however,  concepts  are  not  forces. 

11.  Now,  what  is  the  result  of  the  resistance  mentioned? 
Do  concepts  partially  or  wholly  destroy  one  another,  or,  not- 
withstanding the  resistance,  do  they  remain  unchanged? 

Destroyed  concepts  are  the  same  as  none  at  all.  However,  if, 
notwithstanding  the  mutual  attack,  concepts  remain  un- 
changed, then  one  could  not  be  removed  or  suppressed  by  an- 
other (as  we  see  every  moment  that  they  are).  Finally,  if  all 
that  is  conceived  of  each  concept  were  changed  by  the  contest, 
then  this  would  signify  nothing  more  than,  at  the  beginning, 
quite  another  concept  had  been  present  in  consciousness. 

The  presentation  (concept),  then,  must  yield  without  being 
destroyed  —  i.e.,  the  real  concept  is  changed  into  an  effort  to 
present  itself. 

Here  it  is  in  effect  stated  that,  as  soon  as  the  hindrance 
yields,  the  concept  by  its  own  effort  will  again  make  its  app>ear- 
ance  in  consciousness.  In  this  lies  the  possibility  (although  not 
for  all  cases  the  only  ground)  of  reproduction. 

12.  When  a  concept  becomes  not  entirely,  but  only  in  part, 
transformed  into  an  effort,  we  must  guard  against  considering 
this  j>art  as  a  severed  portion  of  the  whole  concept.  It  has  cer- 
tainly a  definite  magnitude  (upon  the  knowledge  of  which 
much  depends),  but  this  magnitude  indicates  only  a  degree  of 
the  obscuration  of  the  whole  concept.  If  the  question  be  in 
regard  to  several  j)arts  of  one  and  the  same  concept,  these  i>arts 
must  not  be  regarded  as  different,  severed  jwrtions,  but  the 
smaller  divisions  may  be  regarded  as  being  contained  in  the 
larger.  The  same  is  true  of  the  remainders  after  the  collisions 
—  i.e.,  of  those  parts  of  a  concept  which  remain  unobscured, 
for  those  parts  are  also  degrees  of  the  real  concept. 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      397 

CHAPTER  II.   EQUILIBRIUM  AND  MOVEMENT  OF 

CONCEPTS 

13.  When  a  sufficiency  of  opposition  exists  between  con- 
cepts, the  latter  are  in  equilibrium.  They  come  only  gradually 
to  this  point.  The  continuous  change  of  their  degree  of  obscura- 
tion may  be  called  their  movement. 

The  statics  and  mechanics  of  the  mind  have  to  do  with  the 
calculation  of  the  equilibrium  and  movement  of  the  concepts. 

14.  All  investigations  into  the  statics  of  the  mind  begin  with 
two  different  quantitative  factors,  viz.,  the  sum  (or  the  aggre- 
gate amount)  of  the^  resistances  and  the  ratio  of  their  limita- 
tion. The  former  is  the  quantity  which  rises  from  their  en- 
counter, to  be  divided  between  the  opposing  concepts.  If  one 
knows  how  to  state  it,  and  knows  also  the  ratio  in  which  the  dif- 
ferent concepts  yield  in  the  encounter,  then,  by  a  simple  calcu- 
lation in  proportion,  the  statical  point  of  each  concept  —  i.e., 
the  degree  of  its  obscuration  in  equilibrium  —  may  be  found. 

15.  The  sum  as  well  as  the  ratio  of  the  mutual  limitation 
depends  upon  the  strength  of  each  individual  concept  which  is 
affected  in  inverse  ratio"  to  its  strength,  and  upon  the  degree  of 
opposition  between  the  two  concepts.  For  their  influence  upon 
each  other  stands  in  direct  ratio  to  the  strength  of  each. 

The  principle  determining  the  sum  of  the  mutual  limitation 
is,  that  it  shall  be  considered  as  small  as  possible,  because  all 
concepts  strive  against  suppression,  and  certainly  submit  to  no 
more  of  it  than  is  absolutely  necessary. 

16.  By  actual  calculation,  the  remarkable  result  is  obtained 
that,  in  the  case  of  the  two  concepts,  the  one  never  entirely^ 
obscures  the  other,  but,  in  the  case  of  three  or  more,  one  is  v€^yO^ 
easily  obscured,  and  can  be  made  as  ineffective  —  notwith-  '^<.S^ 
standing  its  continuous  struggle  —  as  if  it  were  not  present  abO'     ^t 
all.  Indeed,  this  obscuration  may  happen  to  a  large  number  or /^  ^ 
concepts  as  well  as  to  one,  and  may  be  effected  through  the 
agency  of  two,  and  even  through  the  combined  influence  of 
concepts  less  strong  than  those  which  are  suppressed. 

Here  the  expression  "threshold  of  consciousness"  must  be 


398       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

explained,  as  we  shall  have  occasion  to  use  it.  A  concept  is  in 
consciousness  in  so  far  as  it  is  not  suppressed,  but  is  an  actual 
representation.  When  it  rises  out  of  a  condition  of  complete 
suppression,  it  enters  into  consciousness.  Here,  then,  it  is  on 
the  threshold  of  consciousness.  It  is  very  important  to  deter- 
mine by  calculation  the  degree  of  strength  which  a  concept 
must  attain  in  order  to  be  able  to  stand  beside  two  or  more 
stronger  ones  exactly  on  the  threshold  of  consciousness,  so  that, 
at  the  slightest  yielding  of  the  hindrance,  it  would  begin  to  rise 
into  consciousness. 

Note.  —  The  expression  "A  concept  is  in  consciousness"  must 
be  distinguished  from  that,  "I  am  conscious  of  my  concept."  To  the 
latter  belongs  inner  perception ;  to  the  former  not.  In  psychology, 
we  need  a  word  that  will  indicate  the  totality  of  all  simultaneous 
actual  presentations.  No  word  except  consciousness  can  be  found 
for  this  purpose. 

Here  we  are  obliged  to  be  content  with  a  circumlocution  —  and 
this  all  the  more,  because  the  inner  perception  which  is  usually 
attributed  to  consciousness  has  no  fixed  limit  where  it  begins  or 
ceases,  and,  moreover,  the  act  of  perceiving  is  not  itself  perceived ; 
so  that,  since  we  are  not  conscious  of  it  in  ourselves,  we  must  exclude 
it  from  consciousness,  although  it  is  an  active  knowing,  and  in  no 
way  a  restricted  or  suppressed  concept. 

17.  Among  the  many,  and,  for  the  most  part,  very  compli- 
cated laws  underlying  the  movement  of  concepts,  the  following 
is  the  simplest: 

While  the  arrested  portion  (Hemmungssumme)  of  the  concept 
sinks,  the  sinking  part  is  at  every  moment  proportional  to  the 
part  un suppressed. 

By  this  it  is  possible  to  calculate  the  whole  course  of  the  sink- 
ing even  to  the  statical  point. 

Note.  —  Mathematically,  the  above  law  may  be  expressed: 

cr=S  [    _        )  in  which  S  =  the  aggregate  amount   suppressed, 

/  =  the  time  elapsed  during  the  encounter,  o-  =  the  suppressed  portion 
of  all  the  concepts  in  the  time  indicated  by  t. 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      399 

As  the  latter  quantity  is  apportioned  among  the  individual  con- 
cepts, it  is  found  that  those  which  fall  directly  beneath  the  statical 
threshold  (i6)  are  very  quickly  driven  thence,  while  the  rest  do  not 
reach  exactly  their  statical  point  in  any  given  finite  time.  On  ac- 
count of  this  latter  circumstance,  the  concepts  in  the  mind  of  a  man 
of  most  equable  temperament  are,  while  he  is  awake,  always  in  a 
state  of  gentle  motion.  This  is  also  the  primary  reason  why  the  inner 
perception  never  meets  an  object  which  holds  it  quite  motionless. 

18.  When  to  several  concepts  already  near  equilibrium  a 
new  one  comes,  a  movement  arises  which  causes  them  to  sink 
for  a  short  time  beneath  their  statical  point,  after  which  they 
quickly  and  entirely  of  themselves  rise  again  —  something  as  a 
liquid,  when  an  object  is  thrown  into  it,  first  sinks  and  then 
rises.  In  this  connection  several  remarkable  circumstances 
occur: 

19.  First,  upon  an  occasion  of  this  kind,  one  of  the  older  con- 
cepts may  be  removed  entirely  out  of  consciousness  even  by  a 
new  concept  that  is  much  weaker  than  itself.  In  this  case,  how- 
ever, the  striving  of  the  suppressed  concept  is  not  to  be  consid- 
ered wholly  ineffective,  as  shown  above  (see  16) ;  it  works  with 
all  its  force  against  the  concepts  in  consciousness.  Although  its 
object  is  not  conceived,  it  produces  a  certain  condition  of  con- 
sciousness. The  way  in  which  these  concepts  are  removed  out 
of  consciousness  and  yet  are  effective  therein  may  be  indicated 
by  the  expression,  "They  are  on  the  mechanical  threshold," 
The  threshold  mentioned  above  (16)  is  called  for  the  sake  of 
distinction  the  statical  threshold. 

Note.  —  If  the  concepts  on  the  statical  threshold  acted  in  the 
same  way  as  on  the  mechanical  threshold  we  should  find  ourselves 
in  a  state  of  the  most  intolerable  uneasiness,  or  rather  the  body 
would  be  subjected  to  a  condition  of  tension  that  must  in  a  few 
moments  prove  fatal,  even  as  under  present  conditions  sudden  fright 
will  sometimes  cause  death;  for  all  the  concepts  which,  as  we  are 
accustomed  to  say,  the  memory  preserves,  and  which  we  well  know 
can  upon  the  slightest  occasion  be  reproduced,  are  in  a  state  of 
incessant  striving  to  rise,  although  the  condition  of  consciousness  is 
not  at  all  affected  by  them. 


400  •    JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

20.  Second,  the  time  during  which  one  or  more  concepts 
linger  upon  the  mechanical  threshold  can  be  extended  if  a  series 
of  new,  although  weaker,  concepts  come  in  succession  to  them. 

Every  employment  to  which  we  are  unaccustomed  puts  us  in 
this  condition.  The  earUer  concepts  are  pressed  back  of  the 
later  ones.  The  former,  however,  because  they  are  the  stronger, 
remain  tense,  affect  the  physical  organism  more  and  more,  and 
finally  make  it  necessary  that  the  employment  cease,  when  the 
old  concepts  immediately  rise,  and  we  experience  what  is  called 
a  feeling  of  relief  which  depends  in  part  upon  the  physical 
organism,  although  the  first  cause  is  purely  psychological. 

21.  Third,  when  several  concepts  are  driven  in  succession  to 
the  mechanical  threshold,  several  sudden  successive  changes  in 
the  laws  of  reciprocal  movements  arise. 

In  this  way  is  to  be  explained  the  fact  that  the  course  of  our 
thoughts  is  so  often  inconsequent,  abrupt,  and  apparently  irre- 
gular. This  appearance  deceives  in  the  same  way  as  the  wan- 
dering of  the  planets.  The  conformity  to  law  in  the  human 
mind  resembles  exactly  that  in  the  firmament. 

Note.  —  As  a  counterpart  to  the  concepts  which  sink  simul- 
taneously are  to  be  observed  those  which  rise  simultaneously, 
especially  when  they  rise  free  —  i.e.,  when  a  restricting  environ- 
ment or  a  general  pressure  suddenly  disappears.  With  the  rising 
the  amount  of  suppression  increases.  Hence,  in  the  case  of  three, 
one  may  be,  as  it  were,  bent  back,  and  under  certain  conditions 
may  sink  quite  to  the  threshold.  Their  elevation  is  greater  than 
the  depression  to  which,  sinking  together,  they  would  have  pressed 
one  another,  because  in  sinking  the  sum  of  their  mutual  limitation 
depends  upon  the  total  strength,  which  in  the  gradual  rising  is 
not  the  case. 


CHAPTER  III.    COMPLICATIONS  AND  BLENDINGS 

22.  The  easily  conceivable  metaphysical  reason  why  op- 
posed concepts  resist  one  another  is  the  unity  of  the  soul,  of 
which  they  are  the  self-preservations.  This  reason  explains  with- 
out diflSculty  the  combination  of  our  concepts  (which  combina- 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      401 

tion  is  known  to  exist).  If,  on  account  of  their  opposition,  they 
did  not  suppress  one  another,  all  concepts  would  compose  but 
one  act  of  one  soul ;  and,  indeed,  in  so  far  as  they  are  not  divided 
into  a  manifold  by  any  kind  of  arrests  whatever,  they  really  con- 
stitute but  one  act.  Concepts  that  are  on  the  threshold  of  con- 
sciousness can  not  enter  into  combination  with  others,  as  they 
are  completely  transformed  into  effort  directed  against  other 
definite  concepts,  and  are  thereby,  as  it  were,  isolated.  In  con- 
sciousness, however,  concepts  combine  in  two  ways*.,Fir^t,  con- 
cepts which  are  not  opposed  or  contrasted  with  one  another  (as 
a  tone  and  a  color)  so  far  as  they  meet  unhindered,  form  a  cor^- 
plex;  second^  contrasted  concepts  [e.g.,  red  and  yellow],  in  so  far 
as  they  are  effected  neither  by  accidental  foreign  concepts  nor 
by  unavoidable  opposition,  become  blended  (Jused). 

Complexes  may  be  complete;  blendings  (fusions)  from  their 
nature  must  always  be  (more  or  less)  incomplete. 

Note.  —  Of  such  complexes  as  are  partially  or  almost  complete, 
we  have  remarkable  instances  in  the  concepts  of  things  with  several 
characteristics  and  of  words  used  as  signs  of  thoughts.  In  the 
mother-tongue  the  latter,  words  and  thoughts,  are  so  closely  con- 
nected that  it  would  appear  that  we  think-  by  means  of  words. 
(Concerning  both  examples  more  hereafter.)  Among  the  blendings 
are  especially  remarkable,  partly  those  which  include  in  themselves 
an  aesthetic  relation  (which,  taken  psychologically,  is  created  at  the 
same  time  with  the  blending),  partly  those  which  involve  succession, 
in  which  serial  forms  have  their  origin. 

I  23.  That  which  is  complicated  or  blended  out  of  several  con- 
cepts furnishes  an  aggregate  of  force,  and  for  this  reason  works 
according  to  quite  other  statical  and  mechanical  laws  than 
those  according  to  which  the  individual  concepts  would  have 
acted.  Also  the  thresholds  of  consciousness  change  according 
to  the  complex  or  blending  (fusion),  so  that  on  account  of  a 
combination  a  concept  of  the  very  weakest  kind  may  be  able  to 
remain  and  exert  an  influence  in  consciousness. 

Note  i. — The  computation  for  complexes  and  blendings  de- 
pends upon  the  same  principles  as  that  for  simple  concepts;  it  is, 


7 


402       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

however,  much  more  intricate,  especially  for  the  reason  that  in  the 
case  of  incomplete  combinations  the  forces  as  well  as  their  arrests 
are  only  partially  interwoven  with  one  another  (and  do  not  fully 
enter  as  factors  into  the  product). 

Note  2.  —  Combinations  of  concepts  consist  not  only  of  two  or 
three  members,  but  they  often  contain  many  members  in  very  un- 
equal degrees  of  complication,  or  blending,  in  which  case  no  calcula- 
tion can  estimate  the  multiplicity.  Nevertheless,  from  the  latter, 
the  simplest  cases  may  be  chosen  and  the  more  intricate  ones  esti- 
mated according  to  them.  For  every  science  the  simplest  laws  are 
the  most  important. 

24.  Problem:  After  an  encounter  between  two  concepts,  P 
and  n,  the  remainders,  r  and  p,  are  blended  (or  incompletely 
united).  The  problem  is  to  indicate  what  help  one  of  the  two 
concepts,  in  case  it  should  be  still  more  suppressed,  would 
receive  from  the  other. 

Note.  —  Solution  :  Let  P  be  the  helping  concept;  it  helps  with  a 
force  equal  to  r,  but  n  can  only  appropriate  this  force  in  the  ratio  of 

.  L  /|:  II.  Hence  through  P,  IT  receives  the  help  jj,  and  in  the  same  way 

nP  receives  from  n  the  help  ^. 
U  '  ^ 

The  proof  lies  immediately  in  the  analysis  of  the  ideas.  It  is 
plain  that  the  two  remainders,  r  and  p,  taken  together,  deter- 
mine the  degree  of  union  between  the  two  concepts.  One  of 
them  is  the  helping  force;  the  other,  compared  with  the  con- 
cept to  which  it  belongs,  is  to  be  considered  as  a  fraction  of  the 
whole;  and,  of  the  totality  of  help  which  could  be  rendered  by 
^the  first  remainder,  it  yields  that  portion  which  here  attains 
efficient  activity. 

25.  The  following  principles  may  be  observed  here: 
a.  Beyond  the  point  of  union  no  help  extends  its  influence. 
If  the  concept  11  has  more  clearness  in  consciousness  than  the 

remainder  p  indicates,  then  by  striving  of  the  concept  P,  which 
might  come  to  the  help  of  the  former,  already  more  than 
enough  has  been  done;  hence  for  the  present  it  exerts  no  more 
influence. 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      403 

b.  The  farther  the  one  of  the  concepts  is  below  the  point  of 
union,  so  much  the  more  effectively  does  the  other  help. 

Note.  —  This  gives  the  following  differential  equation: 
rp  p  —  oi 


n    p 


dt=d(i), 


(       -ri 
whence  by  integration  <«)=p  (    _     ff 

This  equation  contains  the  germ  of  manifold  investigations 
which  penetrate  the  whole  of  psychology.  It  is  indeed  so  simple 
that  it  can  never  really  occur  in  the  human  soul,  but  alPinvestiga- 
tions  into  applied  mathematics  begin  with  such  simple  presupposi- 
tions as  only  exist  in  abstraction  —  e.g.,  the  mathematical  lever, 
or  the  laws  of  bodies  falling  in  a  vacuum.  Here  merely  the  influence 
of  the  help  is  considered,  which,  if  everything  depended  upon  it 
alone,  would  bring  into  consciousness  during  the  time  t  a  quantity 
o)  from  n.  Besides,  if  we  take  into  consideration  the  single  circum- 
stance that  n  meets  with  an  unavoidable  arrest  from  other  con- 
cepts, then  the  calculation  becomes  so  complicated  that  it  can  be 
only  approximately  solved  by  an  integration  of  the  following  form : 

d^oi=ad^(jidt+bd(iidl^+C(odi^. 

It  is  self-evident  that  it  much  more  nearly  expresses  the  facts 
which  are  to  be  observed  experimentally. 

26.  The  foregoing  contains  the  foundation  of  the  theory  of 
mediate  reproduction,  which,  according  to  ordinary  language, 
is  derived  from  the  association  of  ideas  or  concepts.  Before  pur- 
suing this  further  we  must  mention  immediate  reproduction  — 
I  i.e.,  that  reproduction  which  by  its  own  force  follows  upon  the 
yielding  of  the  hindrances.  The  ordinary  case  is  that  a  concept 
gained  by  a  new  act  of  perception  causes  the  old  concept  of  the 
same  or  of  a  similar  object  to  rise  into  consciousness.  This 
occurs  when  the  concept  furnished  by  the  new  act  of  perception 

1  presses  back  everything  present  in  consciousness  opposed  to 
the  old  concept,  which  is  similar  to  the  new  one.  Then,  without 
further  difficulty,  the  old  concept  rises  of  itself.  From  this  are 
to  be  observed  the  following  conditions,  which  are  to  be  found 
by  calculation,  of  which,  however,  no  idea  can  be  given  here; 


404       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

a.  In  the  beginning  the  rising  is  in  proportion  to  the  square 
of  the  time,  if  the  new  act  of  perception  occurs  suddenly;  but  to 
the  cube  of  the  time,  if  the  latter  (as  is  usual)  is  formed  by  a 
gradual  and  lingering  act  of  apprehension. 

h.  The  course  of  the  rising  is  adjusted  principally  to  the 
strength  of  the  concept  furnished  by  the  new  act  of  perception 
in  proportion  to  the  opposing  one  which  it  has  pressed  back;  but 
the  individual  strength  of  the  rising  concept  only  has  influence 
under  special  conditions.  It  can,  as  it  were,  only  use  this 
strength  in  the  free  space  which  is  given  to  it. 

c.  The  rising  concept  blends  as  such  with  the  concept,  similar 
to  it,  furnished  by  the  new  act  of  perception.  Since  it  does  not 
rise  entirely,  however,  the  blending  is  incomplete. 

d.  The  fact  that  immediate  reproduction  is  not  limited 
entirely  to  the  old  concept  of  exactly  the  same  kind,  but  ex- 
tends to  the  more  or  less  similar  so  far  as  to  receive  partial  free- 
dom from  the  new  act  of  perception,  is  of  special  importance. 
The  whole  reproduction  may  be  indicated  by  the  name  of 
vaulting  (or  arching).  In  the  case  of  a  long  duration,  or  of  a  fre- 
quent repetition  of  a  new  act  of  perception,  a  second  important 
process,  which  we  call  tapering  (or  pointing),  follows.  The  pe- 
culiarity of  this  latter  consists  in  the  fact  that  the  concepts 
which  are  less  similar  are  again  arrested  by  the  concepts  received 
through  the  new  act  of  perception,  as  the  old  concepts  bring 
with  them  into  consciousness  others  which  are  opposed  to  the 
new,  so  that  finally  the  concept  that  is  entirely  homogeneous 
finds  itself  alone  favored,  and  forms,  as  it  were,  a  tapering  sum- 
mit where  the  highest  point  of  the  vault  (or  arch)  was  hereto- 
fore. 

27.  Where  the  circumstances  allow,  with  this  immediate 
reproduction  is  united  that  mediate  reproduction  mentioned  in 
25.  The  concept  P,  mentioned  above,  is  reproduced  immedi- 
ately (i.e.,  without  the  mediation  of  others),  then  the  free  space 
allowed  it  may  be  regarded  as  that  r  (spoken  of  in  25)  or  as  a 
force  which  strives  to  raise  the  11  blended  with  it  to  its  point  of 
blending  p. 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      405 

Note.  —  As  the  free  space  gradually  increasing  (and  again 
decreasing)  is  given,  we  must  for  the  present  observation  regard 

r  in  the  formula  ca=p(    _       — jasa  variable  quantity,  and  indeed 

as  a  function  of  that  quantity  upon  which  the  propositions  in  26 
depend. 

28.  The  most  important  applications  of  the  previous  theories 
are,  if  with  different  remainders  r,  r',  r" ,  etc.,  of  one  and  the 
same  concept  P  several  H,  11',  11",  etc.,  are  united,  by  which,  for 
the  sake  of  brevity,  we  may  assume  the  remainders  of  the  lat- 
ter, viz.,  /3,  p\  p",  to  be  equal;  also,  n,  II',  etc.,  may  be  equal. 

A  concept  acts  upon  several  united  with  it  in  the  same  series 
according  to  the  time  in  which  its  remainders  (by  which  it  is  united 
with  those  others  according  to  quantity)  stand. 

Note.  —  In  order  to  avoid  diffuseness,  this  most  important  law 
is  here  only  very  incompletely  expressed  in  words.  We  recognize  it 

better  and  more  clearly  in  the  formula  given:  w  =  p{    _      ff)>i^ 

instead  of  one  r  we  substitute  different  smaller  and  greater,  r,  r',  r", 
etc.  But  the  more  exact  calculation  mentioned  in  25  shows  that  the 
n,  n',  n",  etc.,  blended  with  them,  not  only  rise,  but  sink  again,  as 
it  were,  to  make  place  for  each  other,  in  and  the  order  of  r,  r',  r",  etc. 

29.  Here  is  discovered  the  ground  of  the  genuine  reproduc- 
tion or  of  memory  so  far  as  it  brings  to  us  a  series  of  concepts 
in  the  same  order  in  which  they  were  first  received.  In  order  to 
comprehend  this,  we  must  consider  what  union  arises  among 
several  concepts  that  are  successively  given. 

Let  a  series,  a,  b,  c,  d,  be  given  by  perception;  then,  from  the 
first  movement  of  the  perception  and  during  its  continuance,  a 
is  exposed  to  an  arrest  from  other  concepts  already  in  conscious- 
ness. In  the  mean  time,  a,  already  partially  sunken  in  con- 
sciousness, became  more  and  more  obscured  when  b  came  to  it. 
This  b  at  first,  unobscured,  blended  with  the  sinking  a;  then 
followed  c,  which  itself  unobscured,  united  with  b,  which  was 
becoming  obscured,  and  also  with  a,  which  was  still  more 
obscured.   Similarly  followed  d,  to  become  united  in  different 


4o6       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

degrees  with  a,  b,  c.  From  this  arises  a  law  for  each  of  these 
concepts  that  states  how,  after  the  whole  series  has  been,  for  a 
time,  removed  out  of  consciousness,  upon  the  re-emergence  of 
one  of  the  concepts  of  such  a  series  into  consciousness,  every 
other  concept  of  the  same  series  is  called  up.  Let  it  be  assumed 
that  a  rises  first,  then  it  is  united  more  with  6,  less  with  c,  and 
still  less  with  d;  backward,  however,  b,  c,  and  d  are  blended 
collectively  in  an  unobscured  condition  with  the  remainders  of 
a;  hence  a  seeks  to  bring  them  all  again  into  an  unobscured 
condition  [i.e.,  into  full  consciousness].  But  a  acts  the  most 
quickly  and  strongly  upon  b,  more  slowly  upon  c,  still  more 
slowly  upon  d,  etc.,  by  which  close  investigation  shows  that  b 
sinks  again,  while  c  rises,  even  as  c  sinks  when  d  rises;  in  short, 
the  series  follows  in  the  same  order  as  first  given.  On  the  con- 
trary, let  us  assume  that  c  is  originally  reproduced,  then  c  acts 
upon  d  and  the  following  members  of  the  series  exactly  in  the 
same  way  as  was  indicated  in  the  case  of  a  —  i.e.,  the  series 
c,  d,  etc.,  unfolds  gradually  in  the  order  of  its  succession.  On 
the  contrary,  b  and  a  experience  quite  another  influence.  The 
unobscured  c  was  blended  with  their  different  remainders. 
Then  c  acts  upon  them  with  its  whole  strength,  and  without 
delay,  but  only  to  call  back  the  remainders  of  a  and  b  united  with 
it,  to  bring  a  part  of  b  and  a  smaller  part  of  a  into  consciousness. 
Thus  it  happens  that  when  we  remember  something  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  known  series,  the  preceding  part  of  the  series  presents 
itself  all  at  once  in  a  lessened  degree  of  clearness,  while  the  por- 
tion following  comes  before  the  mind  in  the  same  order  as  the 
series  it  brings  with  it.  But  the  series  never  runs  backward ;  an 
anagram  from  a  well-comprehended  word  never  originates 
without  intentional  effort. 

30.  Several  series  may  cross  one  another,  e.g.,  a,  b,  c,  d,  e,  and 
*>  /^j  ^>  ^f  €>  in  which  c  is  common  to  the  two  series.  If  c  were 
reproduced  alone,  it  would  strive  to  call  up  d  and  e  as  well  as  o 
and  €.  If,  however,  b  comes  into  consciousness  first,  then  the 
first  series  comes  decidedly  forward  on  account  of  the  united 
help  of  b  and  c,  yet  the  oppositions  among  the  members  of  both 
series,  in  this  case,  have  each  their  own  influence. 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      407 

We  may  remark  that,  to  the  simple  type  or  model  here  given, 
a  variety  of  complicated  psychological  occurrences  may  be 
adjusted.  The  same  c  can  be  held  as  the  common  point  of  inter- 
section for  many  hundred  series.  On  account  of  the  manifold 
oppositions  in  these  series,  the  common  c  may  cause  none  of  the 
members  to  rise  perceptibly,  but  so  soon  as  h  and  a  come  for- 
ward, determining  c  more  closely,  the  indecision  will  disappear, 
and  the  uppermost  series  will  really  come  before  the  mind. 

31.  The  foregoing  depends  upon  the  difference  presupposed 
in  the  remainders  r,  r' ,  r",  etc.  (28).  But  in  order  that  this  dif- 
ference may  have  its  influence,  the  concept  to  which  these  re- 
mainders belong  must  come  forward  sufficiently  into  conscious- 
ness. Let  it  be  granted  that  it  is  arrested  to  such  a  degree  that 
its  active  representation  amounts  to  no  more  than  that  of  the 
smallest  among  the  remainders  r,  r' ,  r",  etc.,  then  it  works 
equally  on  the  whole  series  of  concepts  blended  with  it  so  that 
a  vague  total  impression  of  all  comes  into  consciousness.  The 
reason  for  this  is  explained  in  sections  27  and  12.  The  re- 
mainders are  not  different  parts  severed  from  one  and  the  same 
concept;  hence  if  a  little  of  the  latter  is  in  consciousness,  we 
must  not  first  question  whether  this  little  may  be  one  and  per- 
haps quite  the  smallest  among  those  remainders,  but  we  must 
assume  that  it  really  is  so,  although  at  the  same  time  it  may  be 
a  part  of  every  other  greater  remainder.  If  the  active  concept 
gradually  rises  into  consciousness,  then  the  remainders,  from 
the  smaller  to  the  greater,  one  after  the  other,  gain  a  special 
law  of  action.  By  this  the  above  vague  impression  of  the 
whole  rises,  in  which  lies  a  whole  series  of  concepts,  and 
these  are  gradually  developed  out  of  one  another. 

Note.  —  Here,  among  others,  must  be  compared  the  phenomena 
resulting  from  exercise  and  skill;  that,  moreover,  not  every  course 
of  thought  repeats  faithfully  the  series  constructed;  and  upon  that 
is  based,  in  part,  the  ground  of  the  inequalities  in  the  quantities  II 
and  p  (25),  with  whose  possible  difference  we  can  not  deal  further 
here.  Additional  facts  may  be  deduced  from  the  following. 

32.  If  free-rising  concepts  (of  which  mention  was  made  in 
the  closing  remarks  of  the  last  chapter)  should  blend  in  regular 


4o8       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

gradation,  they  would  be  subject  to  other  laws  of  reproduction 
which  originate  out  of  the  blending,  and  are  distinguished  and 
determined  according  to  their  differences.  Upon  occasion,  like- 
wise arises  a  process  of  construction  and  formation  of  series 
which  differ  from  the  form  of  analogous  concepts  in  case  the 
latter  are  given  and  then  sink  out  of  consciousness.  From  this 
may  be  explained  the  conflict  between  things  as  we  perceive 
them  and  as  we  think  them,  as  well  as  the  tendency  to  regard 
them  otherwise  than  as  they  first  present  themselves;  conse- 
quently the  modifying  action  of  the  self-activity  upon  that 
which  hes  before  the  perception.  This  may  be  observed  espe- 
cially in  the  case  of  children  who  can  have  no  set  purpose  in 
the  matter. 

CHAPTER  IV.    CONCEPTS  AS  THE  SOURCE 
OF  MENTAL  STATES 

33.  One  of  the  objections  against  mathematical  psychology 
is  that  mathematics  defines  only  quantity,  while  psychology 
must  especially  consider  quality.  It  is  now  time  to  meet  this 
objection,  and  to  collect  the  explanations  of  those  mental  states 
which  the  foregoing  presents. 

Here  we  must  first  remark  that  the  peculiar  striving  of  con- 
cepts for  representation  (11)  never  appears  immediately  in  con- 
sciousness, for,  just  so  far  as  concepts  change  into  striving,  they 
are  removed  out  of  consciousness.  Also,  the  gradual  sinking  of 
concepts  can  not  be  perceived.  A  special  instance  of  this  is, 
that  no  one  is  able  to  observe  his  own  falling  asleep. 

So  far  as  it  represents  or  conceives,  the  soul  is  called  mind; 
so  far  as  it  feels  and  desires,  it  is  called  the  heart  or  disposition 
(Gemiith.)  The  disposition  of  the  heart,  however,  has  its  source  in 
the  mind  —  in  other  words,  feeling  and  desiring  are  conditions, 
and,  for  the  most  part,  changeable  conditions  of  concepts.  The 
emotions  indicate  this,  while  experience,  upon  the  whole,  con- 
firms it:  the  man  feels  little  of  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  his 
youth;  but  what  the  boy  learns  correctly,  the  graybeard  still 
knows.   The  extent,  however^  to  which  a  steadfast  disposition 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      409 

and,  above  all,  character  can  be  given,  will  be  shown  later  in  the 
explanations  of  the  principles  above  presented. 

.^4«.  First^there  is  a  blending  of  concepts  not  only  after  the 
arrest  (22),  but  quite  a  different  one  befg^g-it,  provided  the 
degree  of  opposition  (15)  be  sufficiently  small.  A  principle  of 
aesthetic  judgment  lies  in  this.  Pleasant  feelings  in  their  nar- 
rowest sense,  together  with  their  opposites,  must  be  regarded  as 
analogous  to  these  aesthetic  judgments  —  i.e.,  as  springing 
from  the  relation  of  many  concepts  which  do  not  assert  them- 
selves individually,  but  rather  which  perhaps,  for  psychological 
reasons,  can  not  be  perceived  when  separated. 

Note.  —  In  carrying  out  this  investigation,  the  series  of  tone 
relations  upon  which  music  depends  may  be  presented  as  a  subject 
of  experiment.  Among  simple  tones,  the  degree  of  arrest  (the  inter- 
val of  tones),  entirely  alone  and  without  means,  determines  the 
aesthetic  character  of  its  relation.  It  is  also  certain  that  the  psycho- 
logical explanation  (widely  different  from  the  acoustical)  of  all  har- 
mony is  to  be  sought  in  the  difference  between  the  degrees  of  arrest, 
and  that  it  must  be  found  there.  The  necessary  calculations  for  this 
are,  for  the  most  part,  to  be  found  in  the  second  volume  of  the  Konigs- 
berg  Archives  for  Philosophy.  Of  the  somewhat  extensive  investiga- 
tions, only  the  principal  ones  which  experience  decidedly  confirms 
can  be  given  here: 

When  the  forces,  into  which  concepts,  through  their  similarity 
and  their  contrasts,  separate  one  another,  are  equally  strong,  there 
arises  disharmony.  If,  however,  one  of  these  forces  he  opposed  to 
the  others  in  such  a  relation  that  it  is  driven  to  the  statical  thres- 
hold {16)  by  them,  then  a  harmonious  relation  will  prevail. 

35.  Second,  a  principle  of  contrast  is  to  be  found  in  the  com- 
plexes (22),  which  we  here  consider  complete.  The  complexes 
a+a  and  6  +  y8  are  similar,  provided  a:a  =  h:^\  if  not,  they 
are  dissimilar.  Let  the  degree  of  arrest  between  a  and  h  equal  p, 
and  that  between  a  and  ^  equal  tt.  Now,  if  in  similar  com- 
plexes, />  =  TT,  then,  and  then  only,  will  the  individual  concepts 
be  arrested,  exactly  as  if  they  had  not  been  in  any  combina- 
tion; also  no  feeling  of  contrast  arises,  inasmuch  as  the  arrest  is 
successful  only  when  the  opposing  forces  bring  the  feeling  of 


4IO       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

contrast  with  them ;  but,  in  every  variation  from  the  case  pre- 
sented, the  less  opposed  concepts  are  affected  by  their  com- 
bination with  the  other  two,  but  in  this  very  way  a  part  of  the 
arrest  will  be  withheld  from  the  latter;  consequently,  notwith- 
standing the  opposition,  something  remains  in  consciousness 
that  resists,  and  in  this  lies  the  feeling  of  contrast.  If  7r</>, 
then  the  contrast  between  a  and  h  will  be  felt,  not  that  between 
a  and  /8.  If  tt  >/>,  the  case  is  reversed.  When  Tr  =  0,  the  con- 
trast between  a  and  h  is  the  greatest. 

36.  Third,  a  complex  a  +  a  is  reproduced  by  a  concept  furn- 
ished by  a  new  act  of  perception  similar  to  a  (26).  Now,  when 
a,  on  account  of  its  combination  with  a,  comes  forward,  it 
meets  in  consciousness  a  concept  opposed  to  it,  /8.  Then  a  mil 
be  at  the  same  time,  driven  forward  and  held  hack.  In  this  situa- 
tion, it  is  the  source  of  an  unpleasant  feeling  which  may  give 
rise  to  desire,  viz.,  for  the  object  represented  by  a  provided 
the  opposition  offered  by  yS  is  weaker  than  the  force  which 
a  brings  with  it. 

This  is  ordinarily  the  case ;  desires  are  excited  by  a  remem- 
brance of  their  object.  When  the  remembrance  is  strengthened 
by  several  incidental  concepts,  the  impulses  of  desire  are  re- 
newed. As  often  as  the  opposing  concepts  (i.e.,  concepts  of  the 
hindrances  which  stand  in  the  way  of  the  longing)  attain  pre- 
ponderance, they  produce  a  painful  feeling  of  privation. 

37._Fourth,  a  concept  comes  forward  into  consciousness  by- 
its  own  strength  (perhaps  reproduced  according  to  the  method 
described  in  26),  at  the  same  time  being  called  forward  by 
several  helping  concepts  (24).  Since  each  of  these  helps  has  its 
own  measure  of  time  in  which  it  acts  (according  to  the  formula 
in  25),  then  the  helps  may  strengthen  one  another  against  a  pos- 

/sible  resistance,  but  they  can  not  increase  their  own  velocity. 
jThe  movement  in  advancing  takes  place  only  with  that  velo- 
city which  is  the  greatest  among  several  concepts  meeting  to- 
gether, but  it  is  favored  by  all  the  rest.  This  favoring  is  part  of  the 
process  which  takes  place  in  consciousness,  but  in  no  way  is  it 


anything  represented  or  conceived.  Hence  it  can  only  be  called 
a'feellng  —  without  doubt  a  feeling  of  pleasure. 


\  I,       a.  iceung  —  wiuioi 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      411 

Here  is  the  source  of  the  cheerful  disposition,  especially  of 
joy  in  successful  activity.  Here  belong  various  movements, 
instigated  from  without,  which  do  not  accelerate  but  favor  one 
another  as  in  the  case  of  dancing  and  music.  Of  the  same  char- 
acter is  the  action  according  to  several  centering  motives,  and 
such  too  is  the  insight  based  on  understanding  several  reasons 
which  confirm  one  another. 

38.  In  general,  it  may  be  observed  that  feelings  and  desires 
have  not  their  source  in  the  process  or  act  of  conception  in  gen- 
eral, but  always  in  certain  particular  concepts.  Hence  there 
may  be  at  the  same  time  many  different  feelings  and  desires, 
and  these  may  either  agree  or  entirely  disagree  one  with  the 
other. 

CHAPTER   V.     THE  CO-OPERATION  OF   SEVERAL 
MASSES  OF  CONCEPTS  OF  UNEQUAL  STRENGTH 

39.  From  the  foregoing,  it  may,  in  a  way,  be  perceived  that 
after  a  considerable  number  of  concepts  in  all  kinds  of  combina- 
tions is  present,  every  new  act  of  perception  must  work  as  a^ 
excitant  by  which  some  will  be  arrested,  others  called  forward 
and  strengthened,  progressing  series  interrupted  or  set  again  in 
motion,  and  this  or  that  mental  state  occasioned.  These  mani- 
festations must  become  more  complex  if,  as  is  usual,  the  con- 
cept received  by  the  new  act  of  perception  contains  in  itself  a 
multiplicity  or  variety,  that  at  the  same  time  enables  it  to  hold 
its  place  in  several  combinations  and  series,  and  gives  them  a 
fresh  impulse  which  brings  them  into  new  relations  of  opposi- 
tion or  blending  with  one  another.  By  this,  the  concepts 
brought  by  the  new  act  of  perception  are  assimilated  to  the 
older  concepts  in  such  a  way  as  to  suffer  somewhat  after  the 
first  excitation  has  worked  to  the  extent  of  its  power,  because 
the  old  concepts  —  on  account  of  their  combinations  with  one 
another  —  are  much  stronger  than  the  new  individuals  which 
are  added. 

40.  If,  however,  already  very  strong  complexes  and  blend- 
ings  with  many  members  have  been  formed,  then  the  same  rela- 


412       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

tion  which  existed  between  the  old  and  the  new  concepts  may 
be  repeated  within  between  the  old  concepts.  Weaker  concepts, 
which,  according  to  any  kind  of  law,  enter  into  consciousness, 
act  as  excitants  upon  those  inasses  before  mentioned,  and  are 
received  and  appropriated  by  them  (apperceived)  just  as  in  the 
case  of  a  new  sense-impression;  hence  the  inner  perception  is 
analogous  to  the  outer.  Self-consciousness  is  not  the  subject  of 
/  discussion  here,  although  it  is  very  often  combined  with  the 
^^-    above. 

41.  In  what  has  been  said,  lies  that  which  experience  con- 
V      I   firms,  viz.,  that  the  innei_perception  is  never  a  passive  appre-^ 

_hension,  JDut  always  (even  against  the  will)  active.  The  apper- 
ceived concepts  do  not  continue  rising  or  sinking  according  to 
their  own  laws,  but  they  are  interrupted  in  their  movements  by 
the  more  powerful  masses  which  drive  back  whatever  is  op- 
posed to  them  although  it  is  inclined  to  rise;  and  in  the  case  of 
that  which  is  similar  to  them  although  it  is  on  the  point  of  sink- 
ing, they  take  hold  of  it  and  blend  it  with  themselves. 

42.  It  is  worth  the  trouble  to  indicate  how  far  this  difference 
among  concepts  —  which  we  might  be  inclined  to  divide  into 
dead  and  living  —  may  be  carried. 

Let  us  recall  the  concepts  on  the  statical  threshold  (16). 
These  are,  indeed,  in  effect  nothing  less  than  dead;  for,  in  the 
condition  of  arrest  in  which  they  stand,  they  are  not  able  by 
their  own  effort  to  effect  anything  whatever  [toward  rising  into 
consciousness].  Nevertheless,  through  the  combination  in 
which  they  stand,  they  may  be  reproduced,  and,  besides,  they 
will  often  be  driven  back  in  whole  heaps  and  series  by  those 
more  powerful  masses,  as  when  the  leaves  of  a  book  are  turned 
hurriedly. 

43.  If  the  apperceived  concepts  —  or  at  least  some  of  them 
—  are  not  on  the  statical  threshold,  then  the  apperceiving  con- 
cepts suffer  some  violence  from  them;  also  the  latter  may  be 
subject  to  arrest  from  another  side,  in  which  case  the  inner  per- 
ception is  interrupted ;  through  this,  uncertainty  and  irresolu- 
tion may  be  explained. 

The  apperceiving  mass  may  be,  in  its  turn  apperceived  by 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY      413 

another  mass;  but  for  this  to  occur,  there  must  be  present 
several  concept  masses  of  distinctly  different  degrees  of 
strength.  Hence  it  is  somewhat  seldom  that  the  inner  percep- 
tion rises  to  this  second  power  [the  apperception  of  appercep- 
tion], and  only  in  the  case  of  philosophical  ideas  is  this  series 
considered  as  one  which  might  be  prolonged  into  infinity. 

CHAPTER  VI.   A  GLANCE  OVER  THE  CONNECTION 
BETWEEN  BODY  AND  SOUL 

44.  Up  to  the  present  chapter,  concepts  have  been  considered 
as  present  in  the  soul  without  any  question  concerning  their 
origin  or  concerning  foreign  influences.  This  has  been  done  for 
simplicity.  Now,  sense-perception  in  part  and  physiological 
influences  in  part,  together  with  concepts  already  present,  must 
be  considered. 

45.  Even  from  experience  it  may  be  assumed  that  each  act 
of  perception  of  any  considerable  strength  requires  a  short 
space  of  time  for  its  creation;  but  experience  and  meta- 
physics at  the  same  time  teach  that  by  delaying  longer,  the 
strength  of  the  perception  in  no  way  increases  in  proportion  to 
the  time,  but,  the  stronger  the  perception  already  is,  so  much  the 
less  does  it  increase,  and  from  this  it  follows,  by  an  easy  calcula- 
tion, that  there  is  a  final  limit  to  its  strength  which  the  at- 
tained concept  very  soon  reaches,  and  above  which  even  by  an 
infinite  delay  the  same  perception  will  not  be  able  to  rise.  This 
is  the  law  of  diminishing  susceptibility,  and  the  strength  of  the 
sense-impression  is  quite  indifferent  in  regard  to  this  limit.  The 
weakest  sense-perception  may  give  the  concept  quite  as  much 
strength  as  the  strongest,  only  it  requires  for  this  a  somewhat 
longer  time. 

46.  Every  human  concept  really  consists  of  infinitely  small 
elementary  apprehensions  very  unlike  one  another,  which  in 
the  different  moments  of  time  during  the  continuance  of  the 
act  of  perception  were  created  little  by  little.  However,  if  dur- 
ing the  continuance  of  the  perception  an  arrest  caused  by  old 
opposed  concepts  did  not  occur,  these  apprehensions  would  be 


414       JOHANN  FRIEDRICH  HERBART 

all  necessarily  blended  into  a  single,  undivided  total  force.  For 
this  reason  the  total  force  will  be  perceptibly  less  than  the  sum 
of  all  the  elementary  apprehensions. 

47.  In  early  childhood  a  much  larger  supply  of  simple  sense- 
concepts  is  generated  than  in  all  the  following  years.  Indeed, 
the  work  of  the  after-years  consists  in  making  the  greatest 
possible  number  of  combinations  from  this  supply.  Although 
this  susceptibiHty  is  never  entirely  extinguished,  yet,  if  there 
were  not  a  kind  of  renewal  of  it,  the  age  of  manhood  would  be 
more  indifferent  and  more  unfruitful  in  sense-impressions  than 
it  really  is. 

Though  concepts  on  the  statical  threshold  are  quite  without 
influence  for  that  which  goes  on  in  consciousness  (16),  they  can 
not  weaken  the  susceptibility  to  new  perceptions  similar  to 
themselves.  Hence  this  receptivity  would  be  completely  re- 
estabb'shed  if  the  earlier  ratio  of  arrest  were  not  quite  changed 
by  the  new  acts  of  perception,  and  a  certain  freedom  to  repro- 
duce themselves  directly  given  to  the  older  concepts  (26). 
When  this  happens,  the  receptivity  decreases.  The  greater  the 
number  of  old  concepts  of  the  same  kind  present  in  conscious- 
ness —  this  means  usually  the  longer  one  has  lived  —  so  much 
greater  is  the  number  of  concepts  which  upon  a  given  occasion 
enter  at  the  same  time  into  consciousness ;  and  thus  with  years 
the  renewal  of  receptivity  diminishes. 

48.  The  above  statements  refer  not  only  to  concepts  of 
exactly  the  same  kind,  but  to  all  whose  degree  of  opposition  is  a 
fraction.  This  can  not  be  developed  here,  since  in  the  foregoing 
nothing  exact  could  be  said  of  the  difference  between  the  degrees 
of  opposition. 

49.  It  is  to  be  especially  observed  that  the  influence  of  the 
body  upon  psychical  manifestations  is  shown  in  three  ways  — 
its  repression  (Druck),  its  excitation  (Resonanz),  and  its  co- 
operation in  action.  Up>on  this  are  the  following  preliminary 
remarks: 

50.  Physiological  repression  arises  when  the  accompanying 
conditions,  which  should  correspond  to  the  changes  in  the  soul, 
can  not  follow  without  hindrance;  hence  the  hindrance  will  also 


A  TEXT  BOOK  IN  PSYCHOLOGY       415 

be  felt  as  such  in  the  soul  because  the  conditions  of  each  a£fect 
both.  This  repression  is  often  merely  a  retarding  force,  to  suit 
which  the  mental  movements  must  proceed  more  slowly,  as  is 
the  case  with  slow  minds  that  consume  time  and  are  stupefied 
by  quick  changes.  Often,  however,  repression  is  similar  to  an 
arresting  force,  and  as  such  it  can  be  mathematically  calculated, 
as  when  it  increases  the  number  of  opposed  concepts  by  one  or 
more.  By  it  all  active  concepts  may  be  driven  to  the  statical 
threshold;  and  here  we  have  the  explanation  of  sleep.  In  this 
case  it  would  be  a  deep  and  complete  sleep. 

51.  Physiological  excitation  (Resonanz)  arises  when  the 
accompanying  bodily  conditions  change  more  quickly  or 
become  stronger  than  would  be  necessary  to  merely  cause  no 
hindrance  to  the  mental  movements.  Then  the  soul,  again  in 
response  to  the  body,  will  act  more  quickly  and  more  vigor- 
ously. The  soul  must  also  share  the  resulting  relaxations  of  the 
body,  as  in  intoxication  and  passion. 

52.  The  co-operation  of  the  soul  and  body  in  external  action 
can  not  originally  proceed  from  the  soul,  for  the  will  does  not 
know  in  the  least  what  influence  it  really  exerts  upon  the  nerves 
and  muscles.  But  in  the  child  exists  an  organic  necessity  for 
movement.  At  first  the  soul  accompanies  this  and  the  active 
movements  arising  from  it,  with  its  feelings.  The  feelings,  how- 
ever, become  connected  with  perceptions  of  the  members 
moved.  If,  in  the  result,  the  concept  arising  from  such  a  percep- 
tion acts  as  a  means  of  arousing  desire  (16),  then  the  feeling 
connected  with  it  arises,  and  to  this  latter  as  accompanying 
bodily  condition  belong  all  those  phenomena  in  the  nerves  and 
muscles  by  which  organic  movement  is  actually  determined  or 
defined.  Thus  it  happens  that  concepts  come  to  appear  as  a 
source  of  mechanical  forces  in  the  outer  world. 


FRIEDRIGH   EDUARD  BENEKE 

(1798-1854) 

A   TEXTBOOK    OF    PSYCHOLOGY 
AS   NATURAL   SCIENCE 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
BENJAMIN    RAND 

CHAPTER  I.  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES  OF 
PSYCHICAL    DEVELOPMENT 

§  22.  First  fundamental  process.  Sensations  and  perceptions 
are  formed  in  the  human  soul  in  consequence  of  impressions 
or  excitations  which  come  to  it  from  without.  The  usual 
view  is  that  we  receive  the  external  impressions  primarily 
through  the  bodily  organs,  and  only  thereafter  do  they  pro- 
ceed to  the  soul  by  means  of  the  nerves  and  of  the  brain.  But 
of  this  our  self -consciousness,  which  we  have  designated  (§1) 
as  the  only  fundamental  source  for  psychological  knowledge, 
gives  no  hint  whatever.  The  excitation  of  the  bodily  organs 
presents  itself  to  us  as  an  effect  concomitant  with  the  formation 
of  the  sensory  impressions,  or  as  running  parallel  with  it;  and 
we  must  regard  as  a  false  inference  if  one  endeavors  in  the  man- 
ner indicated  to  place  the  same  in  causal  connection  therewith. 
There  is  no  scientific  justification  ( §  47  ff .)  for  this  assumption  as 
it  is  ordinarily  made.  Furthermore  nothing  is  in  the  least  gained 
thereby  for  the  doing  away  with  the  offensive  dissimilarity  be- 
tween external  objects  and  the  soul.  For  we  are  still  even  as 
little  able  to  conceive  how  a  psychical  seeing,  hearing,  etc.,  can 
arise  from  a  material  vibration  of  the  nerves,  or  of  the  brain,  as 
how  the  soul  itself  can  be  immediately  excited  by  external  im- 
pressions into  the  formations  of  sensations.   Let  anatomy  and 

*  From  F.   E.   Beneke's  Lehrbuch  der   Psychologic  als  Naturwissenschaft. 
Berlin,  1833;  bearb.  von  J.  G.  Dressier,  4  Aufl.  ib.,  1877. 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    417 

physiology,  therefore,  explain  and  establish  the  results  of 
observation  in  their  domain.  In  psychology  we  hold  firmly  to 
the  fact  that  our  self-consciousness  says  nothing  about  any 
such  mediation. 

§  23.  The  creation  of  sensations  and  perceptions  necessarily 
presupposes:  (i)  certain  external  elements  (excitations,  impres- 
sions) which  are  received  and  appropriated  by  our  soul;  and  (2) 
certain  inner  forces,  or  faculties,  by  which  it  receives  and  ap- 
propriates these  elements.  These  forces,  which,  hke  the  excita- 
tions aforesaid,  show  themselves  at  the  first  glance  to  be  mani- 
fold, or  to  form  several  characteristic  systems,  we  style  sensory 
faculties,  just  because  they  respond  to  external  excitations ;  and, 
furthermore,  we  call  them  original  faculties  (Urvermogen) 
of  the  soul,  in  so  far  as  we  are  unable  to  derive  them  from  any- 
thing else.  It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that  the  sensory 
excitations  so  soon  as  they  are  received  and  appropriated  are 
transformed  likewise  into  psychical  elements.  We  attribute  to 
the  sensory  faculties  in  respect  to  this  process  a  higher  or 
lesser  degree  of  sensitiveness  to  excitation.  By  means  of  this 
variable  degree  the  extent  of  the  excitation  received,  or  the 
vividness  of  the  sensation,  is  shown  to  be  conditioned  from 
within. 

§  24.  Second  fundamental  process.  The  human  soul  is  con- 
stantly acquiring  original  faculties.  Of  this  innermost  life-pro- 
cess, by  which  alone  the  soul  is  able  to  continue  its  Hfe,  we  ob- 
tain knowledge  only  from  the  fact,  that  from  time  to  time  the 
original  faculties  become  exhausted.  There  is  in  other  words  an 
inability  to  form  sensory  perceptions,  or  to  carry  on  activities, 
which  demand  new  and  original  faculties,  and  these  remain  for 
a  subsequent  more  or  less  extended  use.  As  an  explanation  of 
this  phenomenon  the  effect  indicated  proves  to  be  the  most 
plausible  hypothesis.  We  cannot,  indeed,  determine  more  ex- 
actly the  nature  of  this  process,  not  merely  because  it  wholly 
escapes  consciousness,  but  also  because  among  all  other  pro- 
cesses of  which  we  are  conscious  there  is  none  analogous  to  it. 
An  indication  of  the  circumstances  under  which  this  process 
occurs,  and  occurs  more  perfectly,  we  reserve  for  later  consider.- 


41 8        FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

ation  (§  335)  on  account  of  this  very  obscurity,  and  in  order 
to  make  use  in  fuller  measure  of  the  results  of  observation. 

§  25.  The  original  faculties  are  essentially  volitions  so  long 
and  so  far  as  they  have  not  as  yet  adopted  excitation  for  their 
completion ;  that  is  to  say,  they  strive  for  this  fulfilment  as  for 
a  complement  intended  for  them  by  their  nature.  We  also 
term  this  striving  "  tension."  This  character  appears  especially 
in  the  uneasiness  which  develops  if  they  have  accumulated 
unused  in  rather  a  large  number.  This  is  an  uneasiness  which  as 
experience  shows  can  mount  to  any  conceivable  degree,  and  can 
lead  even  to  despair  of  life  and  to  suicide.  Moreover,  the  use  of 
the  original  faculties  is  by  no  means  restricted  to  the  formation 
of  sensations  and  perceptions.  On  the  contrary,  attaching  them- 
selves to  inner  formations  they  become  effective  for  the  same 
excitations  and  for  achievements  of  the  most  varied  sort.  Es- 
pecially do  they  form  in  this  way  the  fundamental  active  prin- 
ciple in  all  action  as  well  as  in  all  psychical  products. 

§  26.  Third  fundamental  process.  The  combination  of  facul- 
ties and  excitations,  such  as  are  originally  grounded  in  sensa- 
tions and  perceptions,  and  maintained  in  their  reproductions, 
reveals  sometimes  a  firmer  and  sometimes  a  less  firm  inter- 
penetration  of  these  two  classes  of  elements.  A  more  accurate 
observation  now  teaches  us,  that  when  elements  are  less  firmly 
united  and  therefore  mobile,  they  can  be  transferred  in  the 
greatest  variety  of  combinations  from  one  psychical  formation 
to  another.  In  all  psychical  developments  at  every  moment  of 
our  lives  there  is  an  active  striving  towards  a  balancing  or 
equalizing  of  the  mobile  elements  in  them.  In  a  preliminary 
way  we  may  give  as  examples  of  this  fact  the  increase  of  in- 
tensity, which  all  the  operations  of  our  mind  experience  through 
the  emotions  of  joy,  of  enthusiasm,  of  love,  of  anger,  etc. ;  as 
well  as  upon  the  other  hand,  the  depressions  of  the  same, 
through  sorrow,  fear,  etc. 

§  27.  Our  self-consciousness  constantly  exhibits  a  change, 
which  sometimes  mounts  to  an  appalling  variety  and  rapidity. 
But  this  change  does  not  extend  so  far  as  at  first  glance  it 
appears  to  do,  and  moreover  chiefly  effects  only  the  excited 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    419 

state.  For  every  psychical  product  that  thus  became  formed  in 
the  human  soul  with  any  degree  of  perfection  persists,  even 
after  it  has  disappeared  from  consciousness  or  from  the  sphere 
of  excited  psychical  development,  in  the  unconscious  or  inner 
being  of  the  soul,  out  of  which  it  can  later  enter  into  the  con- 
scious psychical  development  or  be  reproduced.  We  term  that 
which  persists  in  an  unconscious  state,  with  reference  to  the 
psychical  development  which  continues  unconsciously  to  exist, 
"a  trace";  and  in  reference  to  those  developments  which  are 
either  constructed  upon  this  basis,  or  which  proceed  therefrom, 
"  a  rudiment."  (There  is  prefigured  or  predisposed  in  the  same 
a  presentation  of  imagination,  a  sensation,  etc.)  Every  such 
trace  consists  therefore  of  two  elements:  faculty  and  excitation. 
§  28.  We  know  indeed  these  traces  or  rudiments  only  by 
means  of  the  reproductions  thereof.  We  are,  nevertheless,  per- 
fectly certain  of  them,  because  of  the  fact  that  these  reproduc- 
tions, where  no  hindrance  occurs,  always  take  place  not  only 
qualitatively,  but  also  quantitatively,  in  the  strictest  agree- 
ment with  the  earlier  psychical  formations.  The  kind  of  the 
excitation  and  the  strength  of  the  faculty  (the  two  elements  out 
of  which  every  trace  was  formed)  return  to  consciousness  in  the 
same  way,  as  at  their  coalescence  they  conditioned  the  devel- 
opment of  the  trace.  In  fact,  strictly  speaking,  even  this  per- 
sistence of  the  trace  needs  no  explanation,  since  there  is  repre- 
sented in  it  only  the  universally  evident  fact,  that  what  has 
once  come  into  existence  continues  until  it  is  destroyed  through 
the  agency  of  special  causes.  What,  therefore,  is  here  subject 
to  explanation  is  not  the  continued  subsistence,  but  only  the 
transition  into  unconsciousness  of  what  previously  had  been 
conscious ;  and  this  is  easily  comprehended  from  the  aforesaid 
process  of  balancing.  Inasmuch  as  the  conscious  developments 
balance  or  transfer  in  every  direction,  so  far  as  an  immediate 
combination  takes  place,  those  elements  which  are  not  firmly 
appropriated  by  them  and  are  mobile,  it  follows,  that  such  a 
depression  must  take  place  in  them  that  they  become  uncon- 
scious forms  or  mere  traces  (§  30). 
,   §  29.  In  reference  to  the  presentation  of  these  traces,  which, 


420        FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

as  they  are  essentially  unconscious  cannot  be  made  immedi- 
ately by  means  of  these  themselves,  we  must  hold  absolutely  to 
the  effects  which  have  led  to  their  assimiption.  These  traces 
hence  have  no  actual  place  of  existence.  As  is  the  soul  in 
general,  so  also  all  its  parts  are  nowhere;  for  self  consciousness, 
which  is  our  single  source  of  knowledge,  contains  with  itself 
immediately,  and  by  itself,  (without  the  addition  of  perceptions 
of  the  external  senses),  nothing  whatever  of  spatial  relations. 
The  traces  are  also  united  to  no  bodily  organ.  For  the  intuitive 
notions  of  space,  and  the  transformations  thereof,  which  run 
parallel  to  the  psychical  developments,  are  in  the  strictest 
sense  merely  parallel  to  them,  that  is  to  say,  synchronous,  or  at 
best  always  synchronous.  They  can  thus  in  no  wise  be  made 
essential  to  them,  to  say  nothing  of  being  postulated  as  their 
substantial  basis  (§43  ff.).  The  trace  is  what  comes  between 
the  production  of  a  psychical  activity,  (e.g.,  a  sensory  percep- 
tion), and  its  reproduction,  (e.g.,  as  recollection).  Since  both  of 
these  acts  are  psychical  we  may  also  conceive  of  the  trace  only 
in  psychical  form.  We  are,  nevertheless,  in  general  able  to 
acquire  very  definite  ideas  of  it,  since  the  fundamental  condi- 
tions for  this  conception  are  given  us  in  any  case  on  two  sides, 
and  not  infrequently,  (when  there  traces  are  manifoldly  repro- 
duced), on  several  sides. 

§  30.  Faculties  and  excitations  exist  in  the  traces  in  the  rela- 
tively constant  combination,  which  they  have  entered  into  with 
one  another  (§26).  Since  nothing  can  escape  from  the  faculties, 
the  loss  by  which  the  previously  conscious  or  aroused  develop- 
ments become  mere  traces,  must  effect  the  received  excitations; 
and  so  far  as  this  loss  occurs,  to  that  extent  is  the  faculty  filled 
by  them  again  emptied  or  free.  In  so  far  all  traces  are  as  such 
volitions  (Strebungen) ;  that  is  to  say,  the  original  faculties 
given  in  them  strive  for  the  recovery  of  that  which  they  have 
lost,  or  for  the  renewed  attainment  of  consciousness. 

§31.  The  certainty,  which  we  receive  by  a  strict  comparison 
of  facts  concerning  this  inner  persistence,  is,  likewise,  in  two 
respects,  invaluable  for  the  perfecting  of  general  psychological 
knowledge.    First,  because  we  apply  them  in  a  progressive 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    421 

direction.  Since  all  previous  developments  of  the  soul,  so  far  as 
they  have  not  again  been  destroyed,  continue  to  exist  in  the 
inner  being  of  the  soul,  it  follows,  that  this  must,  or  (what  is  the 
same  thing)  the  forces  or  faculties  of  the  soul  must,  consist  of 
traces  of  the  earUer  aroused  developments.  We  can,  therefore, 
perceive  these  faculties  not  merely  from  their  effects,  (which 
lead  only  to  a  summary  or  rough  determination),  but  likewise 
from  their  causes  too,  or  from  the  conscious  developments  pre- 
ceding them.  Since  now  these  latter  separate  in  far  greater 
extension  and  far  more  decidedly,  (in  hundreds  of  cases  and 
more) ,  we  thus  derive  by  this  means  for  the  perception  of  their 
nature  and  organisation  the  same  advantages  as  those  which 
magnifying  glasses  afford  when  applied  to  external  nature. 
Secondly,  we  can  furthermore  turn  to  account  the  doctrine  of 
inner  persistence  in  a  retrogressive  construction.  This  matter 
has  been  provisionally  discussed  (§21).  If  we  have  clearly  re- 
cognised in  a  certain  series  of  developments  the  manner  in  which 
the  traces  are  formed,  we  can  thus  disregard  that  which  is 
added  to  these  in  our  thoughts,  and,  since  we  continually  repeat 
this,  can  at  last  attain  to  a  knowledge  of  the  original  nature  of 
the  soul. 

§  32.  How  far  this  persistence  extends  in  reference  to  the 
quality  of  the  developments,  and  the  length  of  time,  can 
scarcely  be  established  with  perfect  certitude  from  the  fore- 
going experiences.  We  know  of  the  inner  persistence  only 
through  the  reproductions  (§  28).  But  from  the  fact  that 
something  has  not  heretofore  been  reproduced,  and  even  now 
cannot  be  reproduced,  it  does  not  immediately  follow  that  the 
same  is  not  yet  present,  nor  even  that  it  is  not  capable  of  repro- 
duction. Experiments  which  have  been  made  in  this  matter  in 
violent  fevers  and  injuries,  etc.,  have  shown,  that  what  one  has 
believed  to  have  long  disappeared,  because  it  has  never  been 
reproduced  under  the  ordinary  conditions  of  reproduction,  was 
raised  into  consciousness  and  psychical  activity  under  unusual 
conditions  of  production.  The  presumption,  therefore,  is  great, 
that  in  general  whatever  has  once  formed  a  part  with  any  degree 
of  completeness  of  our  soul  is  never  again  lost. 


422        FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

§  33.  Since  the  persistence  of  the  traces  consists  in  nothing 
except  the  continuance  of  whatever  has  once  attained  exist- 
ence, the  perfection  in  general  of  the  traces  must  also  be 
dependent  upon  the  perfection  with  which  the  developments 
have  originally  been  formed.  In  the  sensations  and  perceptions, 
therefore,  it  would  depend  upon  the  perfection  with  which  the 
excitations  have  been  appropriated.  We  ascribe  to  the  sensory 
original  faculties  in  this  connection  a  higher  or  lower  degree  of 
strength. 

§  34.  In  the  innermost  soul  traces  remain  of  this  transference 
of  mobile  elements  from  one  psychical  form  to  another,  and 
thereby  are  established,  in  the  same  manner  as  all  permanent 
combinations,  even  the  combinations  of  incompatible  forma- 
tions into  groups  and  series:  the  combinations  between  the  qual- 
ities of  a  thing,  between  the  spatial  and  temporal  coincidence, 
and  the  connection  between  causes  and  effects.  These  are,  there- 
fore, by  no  means  to  be  regarded  merely  as  ideal  relations,  but 
to  be  viewed,  just  as  much  as  the  single  presentation,  as  some 
real  abiding  existence  in  the  inner  being  of  the  soul. 

§  35.  Fourth  fundamental  process.  Identical  formations  of 
the  human  soul,  and  similar  ones  according  to  the  measure  of 
their  likeness,  attract  one  another,  or  strive  to  enter  into  closer 
relations  with  each  other.  This  presents  itself  to  our  observa- 
tion so  frequently,  not  merely  in  its  products  but  also  in  its 
occurrence,  that  it  needs  no  further  explanation.  Familiar 
examples  are  such  as,  the  witty  combination  of  ideas,  the  forma- 
tion of  similies  and  judgments,  the  fusion  of  similar  feelings 
and  endeavors,  etc.  If  now  in  these  examples  the  coalescing 
formations  are  only  partly  similar  to  one  another,  this  attrac- 
tion, as  is  confirmed  in  the  most  evident  manner  by  a  stricter 
analysis  of  the  facts  in  various  cases,  must  take  place  between 
formations  which  are  totally  similar  with  still  greater  strength, 
and  decisiveness.  Nevertheless,  the  more  critical  observation 
shows  that  in  all  these  attractions  only  a  coalition  of  similar 
formations,  but  still  no  permanent  combination  or  fusion  of 
them  is  affected.  Rather  the  process  of  balancing  must  enter 
in_a  complementary  way  for  these  latter,  just  as  it  must  enter 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    423 

in  permanent  combinations  between  dissimilar,  formations. 
This  balancing  process  reveals  itself  as  active  here  with  most 
remarkable  strength,  so  that  the  blending  gains  a  higher  degree 
of  intimacy,  since  a  specially  favorable  basis  is  prepared  for  it 
by  the  indicated  attraction  (§91). 

§  36.  The  process  of  formation  is  of  exceptional  importance, 
especially  for  the  judgment  of  quantitative  development.  If  we 
suppose  one  and  the  same  sensation,  presentation,  desire,  etc., 
to  be  frequently  produced,  the  traces  remaining  therefrom 
enter  not  only  into  relation  with  one  another,  but  they  also 
coalesce  owing  to  their  complete  similarity  into  one  total  form- 
ation. And  such  formation  appears  to  us  as  one  to  that  degree 
in  which  we  cannot  become  at  all  aware  immediately  of  its  com- 
plexity (qualitative),  but  only  by  means  of  its  augmentation 
(quantitative).  The  strict  conception  and  appUcation  of  this 
will  lead  us  to  a  number  of  highly  significant  con,clusions,  which 
have  heretofore  escaped  the  notice  of  science,  because  it  has 
only  very  inaccurately  taken  these  results  into  account. 

§  37.  All  the  processes  explained  in  the  preceding  paragraphs 
are  of  such  an  elementary  character,  and  of  so  great  universal- 
ity, that  scarcely  one  even  of  the  simplest  developments  of  our 
matured  soul  could  be  pointed  out,  in  which  they  do  not  alto- 
gether, and  even  repeatedly,  collaborate.  But  they  show  them- 
selves active  in  very  different  relations  of  combinations  and 
degree;  and  thus  there  is  indeed  nothing  that  prevents  one 
from  indicating  this  or  that  single  fundamental  process  as  the 
conditioning  cause  for  this  or  that  effect,  when  its  agency  is 
particularly  conspicuous  above  the  others.  A  more  exact 
observation  teaches,  that  these  processes  can  occur  with  very 
various  degrees  of  rapidity  and  vivacity.  And  since  these 
processes,  (at  least  so  far  as  there  is  no  external  condition), 
manifest  themselves  uniformly  in  all  developments,  which  take 
place  in  a  human  being  within  the  range  of  a  certain  funda- 
mental system,  we  are  justified  in  deriving  them  in  so  far  from 
the  original  faculties,  and  in  attributing  to  the  latter  in  respect 
thereof  a  higher  or  lower  degree  of  animation  as  a  pri- 
mordial quality. 


424        FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

CHAPTER  11.    THE  FUNDAMENTAL  NATURE  OF 
THE  HUMAN  SOUL 

§  38.  If  we  summarize  first  of  all  the  most  general  character- 
istics concerning  the  nature  of  the  human  soul  which  result 
from  our  preceding  exposition,  it  presents  itself  to  us:  (i)  as  a 
perfectly  immaterial  being  (§§22  and  29),  consisting  of  certain 
fundamental  systems,  which  not  only  in  themselves,  but  also 
in  combination  with  each  other,  are  most  intimately  one,  or 
constitute  one  bdng  (§  26) ;  (2)  as  a  sensory  being,  i.e.,  the  ele- 
mentary forces  of  the  soul  are  capable  of  certain  stimulations 
from  without  by  excitations,  which  are  assimilated  and  retained 
by  these  forces  (§  22  f.).  To  these  must  still  be  added:  (3)  the 
forces  of  the  soul  gain  by  this  assimilation  a  more  positive 
organisation,  and  in  this  they  enter  upon  manifold  closer  com- 
binations with  one  another,  partly  by  means  of  the  fusion  of 
similar  forms  into  one  total  form  ( §  35  f.).  and  partly  by  means 
of  the  combination  of  dissimilar  forms  into  groups  and  series 
(§  34).  (4)  But  the  forces  and  faculties  of  the  soul  have  also  an 
original  determinateness,  which  is  twofold:  the  original  de- 
terminateness  of  the  fundamental  systems  to  which  they  be- 
long, and  the  original  determinateness  of  certain  degrees  of 
strength  (§  7)2))^  ^^'^  vivacity  (§  37),  and  sensitiveness  of 
stimulus  (§  23).  Observation  teaches  us  that  every  degree 
of  any  one  of  these  fundamental  conditions  can  occur  together 
with  any  degree  of  the  others, 

§  39.  For  a  more  exact  determinateness  we  must  compare 
human  souls  w'th  the  souls  of  lower  animals.  If  we  compare 
that  which  appears  in  the  latter  as  the  effect  of  the  psychical, 
with  that  immediately  perceived  in  us  and  the  effects  thereof, 
the  most  striking  characteristic  of  human  souls  appears  to  be, 
that  they  are  spiritual,  (that  is  to  say,  if  for  the  present  we 
formulate  this  superiority  in  its  greatest  universality  and  as  it 
immediately  appears) ,  —  souls,  which  are  capable  of  a  clearer, 
more  definite,  and  more  comprehensive  consciousness,  and 
which  necessarily  develop  such  consciousness  up  to  a  certain 
point  of  time,  although  some  in  greater,  others  in  lesser  perfec- 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    425 

tion.  The  question  now  arises,  what  we  have  to  regard  as  that 
which  fundamentally  conditions  this  superiority. 

§  40.  We  here  first  encounter  a  view  which  was  especially  in 
the  last  century,  and  even  in  our  time  has  been  again,  pro- 
pounded. According  to  it,  the  original  forces  of  human  souls  are 
said  to  be  in  and  of  themselves  entirely  similar  to  those  of  the 
lower  animals,  and  the  spiritual  character  of  the  human  soul  is 
derived  solely  from  the  more  excellent  bodily  organisation  with 
which  this  is  united.  In  support  of  this  view  three  things  have 
been  especially  emphasized:  first,  the  possession  of  hands  by 
which  man  is  enabled  to  change  the  position  and  form  of  ob- 
jects, and  thus  become  acquainted  with  an  incomparably 
greater  number  of  these  quahties;  secondly,  the  possession  of 
speech,  which  makes  possible  a  manifold  expression  of  acquired 
ideas,  etc.,  as  well  as  a  more  extended  and  more  perfect  reten- 
tion of  them;  and,  thirdly,  the  slower  growth  owing  to  a  longer 
period  of  childhood,  in  consequence  of  which  there  is  a  more 
varied  accumulation  and  elaboration  of  ideas. 

§  41.  The  reasons  specified  in  the  preceding  paragraph  con- 
cerning the  spiritual  character  of  the  humxan  soul  in  no  wise  give 
a  perfectly  satisfactory  explanation.  From  the  greater  mass  of 
heterogeneous  ideas  which  are  acquired  through  the  medium 
of  the  hands  and  speech,  there  would  result  in  and  for  itself 
only  a  greater  throng  of  them,  and  as  a  consequence  rather  a 
more  rapid  and  m.ore  complete  obliteration  of  the  single  idea. 
It  is  just  as  difficult  to  perceive  from  the  slower  growth  of  the 
body  how  it  should  transform  the  unspiritual  into  something 
spiritual  without  the  addition  of  another  positive  factor. 
We  have  on  the  contrary  to  regard  the  slower  formations  of 
the  body  not  as  a  cause,  but  as  a  consequence  of  spiritual  devel- 
opment, which  constantly  exerts  a  certain  modification  upon 
the  bodily  development.  The  higher  perfection  of  the  human 
soul,  therefore,  cannot  be  in  such  wise  merely  externally  condi- 
tioned, but  must  be  a  perfection  that  is  internally  and  qualita- 
tively conditioned,  and  which  affects  the  innermost  nature  of 
the  psychical  original  faculties  themselves. 

§  42.  Of  the  three  fundamental  characteristics  of  the  original 


426        FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

faculties  as  designated  (§  38),  the  susceptibility  of  excitation 
occurs  not  merely  in  many  of  the  lower  animals  in  like  perfec- 
tion with  man,  but  also  in  case  of  some  of  them  in  greater  per- 
fection than  in  man.  Vivacity  occurs  with  men  as  with  the 
lower  animals  in  very  many  degrees.  But  what  is  peculiar  and 
essential  to  human  souls  is  a  higher  power  of  susceptibility  and 
of  appropriation  of  the  excitation,  as  well  as  a  greater  force  of 
inner  persistence  of  the  developments  founded  thereupon. 
By  means  of  this  m.ore  perfect  inner  persistence,  there  is  made 
possible  in  the  psychical  developments  of  men  an  infinite  in- 
crease of  strength,  of  clearness,  and  of  capacity  of  coalescence. 
In  combination  therewith,  but  also  only  in  combination  there- 
with, the  hands,  the  speech,  and  the  longer  period  of  childhood 
are,  to  be  sure,  of  no  little  significance  for  the  development  of 
'the  human  soul.  We  can  best  designate  this  superiority  of  man 
over  the  lower  animals  by  ascribing  to  the  former  a  spiritual 
sensuousness.  Besides  the  superiority  of  the  higher  energy  of 
the  original  faculties  there  is  another  in  which  the  possession  of 
speech  and  hands  are  ranked  only  as  single  constituents.  This 
is  the  more  individual  and  more  definite  determinateness,  and 
in  consequence  of  that,  the  more  definite  separation  of  the 
different  elementary  systems,  both  as  to  the  qualities  of  the 
several  susceptibilities  and  activities,  and  as  to  the  combi- 
nations and  interweavings. 

CHAPTER  III.   THE  RELATION  OF  THE  SOUL 
AND  THE  BODY 

§  43.  There  is  still  need  of  a  more  exact  determination  con- 
cerning the  relation  of  the  soul  to  the  body.  We  have  already 
remarked  (§1),  that  these  are  very  definitely  separated  in  the 
perception  (Auffassung),  and  the  knowledge  based  thereupon; 
since  to  the  knowledge  of  the  soul  everything  belongs  that  we 
perceive  by  means  of  self-consciousness,  and  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  body  everything  by  means  of  the  external  senses.  We 
must  leave  to  metaphysics  the  deeper  determination  of  their 
real  relation.   We  have  here  only  to  do  with  the  question, 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    427 

how  they  must  stand  to  one  another  for  the  purposes  of  psy- 
chology. 

§  44.  Transferring  the  contrary  kinds  of  knowledge  men- 
tioned in  the  foregoing  paragraphs  to  the  real,  without  due 
consideration  those  who  have  set  as  their  task  a  strictly  philo- 
sophical knowledge,  in  most  cases  have  represented  the  soul 
and  the  body  as  being  in  their  innermost  nature  opposed  to  one 
another.  And  from  this  the  most  remarkable  hypotheses  have 
been  evolved ;  since  upon  the  other  hand  the  experience  of  every 
moment  presents  their  immediate  union  in  one  and  the  same 
being,  and  also  their  immediate  interaction  and  co-operation. 

§  45.  When  on  the  contrary  there  was  set  as  a  task  no  deeper 
philosophical  knowledge,  but  there  was  in  mind  only  the  prac- 
tical application,  which  a  synthesis  of  both  rendered  desir- 
able for  a  common  knowledge,  it  has  been  attempted  in  most 
cases  to  refer  the  psychical  developments  to  the  bodily;  indeed, 
some  have  gone  so  far  as  quite  generally  to  designate  the  former 
as  mere  products  of  the  bodily  organization  peculiar  to  man. 
This  is  the  fundamental  view  of  materialism.  But  the  history  of 
psychology  shows,  that  never  at  any  time  has  it  been  possible, 
either  to  explain  or  to  construct  from  the  material  the  very 
least  of  the  developments  of  the  soul.  And  not  only  so,  but  it 
can  also  admit  of  no  doubt,  that  this  will  be  just  as  little  pos- 
sible in  the  entire  future.  Both  kind  of  ideas  are  much  too  dis- 
similar for  this.  In  whatever  way  we  may  determine  and 
combine  the  material  forms  and  processes,  we  never  attain  to 
anything  that  has  even  the  remotest  resemblance  to  a  thought, 
or  to  any  other  psychical  product. 

§  46.  What  has  given  rise  to  the  materialistic  view  indicated 
in  the  preceding  paragraph  is  only  the  greater  distinctness  and 
definiteness,  which  the  presentations  of  the  bodily  have  over 
those  of  the  psychical  for  those  unused  to  self-examination. 
But  this  advantage  is  nevertheless  purely  subjectively 
grounded  (in  the  nature  of  the  presentation) ;  and  the  transfer- 
ence of  it  to  the  objective,  or  real,  can  be  in  no  wise  justified. 
And  as  a  subjective  advantage  it  is  to  be  regarded  not  even  as 
essentially  necessary,  but  only  as  accidental  and  temporary; 


428        FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

since  in  a  practice  continued  for  some  time  and  intelligently 
conducted,  an  equally  great,  indeed  a  still  greater,  clearness 
and  definiteness  can  be  gained  for  the  perception  of  psychical 
products  and  results. 

§  47.  To  this  must  be  added,  that  we  are  able  to  observe 
(§  13)  the  developments  of  our  soul  far  more  immediately  and 
more  intimately.  This,  in  connection  with  what  has  been 
remarked  in  the  preceding  paragraph,  enables  us  to  develop  the 
knowledge  of  the  psychical  forms  and  processes  to  such  great 
definiteness,  exactness,  and  acuteness,  that  the  knowledge  of 
the  bodily  stands  far  in  the  background.  Indeed,  we  can  foresee 
with  the  highest  probability,  that  a  completeness  of  under- 
standing and  construction  for  the  bodily,  such  as  we  already 
have  for  the  psychical,  can  never  be  gained  (granted  the 
highest  possible  perfection  of  magnifying  glasses,  etc.)  even 
approximately.  Even  regardless  of  reasons  of  inner  truth,  it 
appears  from  the  standpoint  of  the  products  of  knowledge  it- 
self as  far  more  desirable,  that,  in  direct  opposition  to  the 
materialistic  view,  we  should  be  able  to  conceive  and  to 
construct  the  bodily  according  to  the  forms  and  the  laws  of 
the  psychical. 

§  48.  The  problem  which  presents  itself  (§  44)  in  the  appar- 
ently opposed  fundamental  natures  of  the  soul  and  body  can  be 
solved  after  deeper  reflection  (Aufassung)  very  simply,  in  that, 
we  also  perceive  our  own  body,  as  ever>'thing  else  corporeal, 
only  by  means  of  the  impressions  upon  our  senses,  and,  there- 
fore, not  immediately  as  in  the  case  of  the  soul,  where  the 
powers  and  developments  are  apprehended  as  they  are  in  them- 
selves. But  there  correspond  certain  forces  to  the  perceptions 
of  our  own  body  as  its  being  (in  itself) ,  which  as  they  effect  those 
sensory  perceptions,  permit  still  many  other  results  to  proceed 
from  themselves.  And  the  opposition  in  our  observations  of  the 
two  kinds  of  developments  can  arise  just  as  well  from  the  differ- 
ence in  the  faculties  of  perception,  as  from  the  difference  of  the 
perceived  objects  and  events.  That  this  difference  is  not  so 
great  as  it  appears  is  already  in  the  highest  degree  probable, 
even  (we  can  truly  say)  certain,  from  the  fact,  that  there  exists 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    429 

no  kind  of  bodily  developments  which  cannot  become  con- 
scious under  certain  circumstances,  and  which  as  conscious  can- 
not be  immediately  perceived  by  us.  But  in  that  event  it  be- 
comes psychical  ( §§  i  and  43) ;  as  it  stands  also  in  fact  in  this 
case  to  the  positively  psychical  developments  entirely  in  the 
same  relations  of  reciprocal  aid,  of  combination,  and  of  opposi- 
tion, as  the  psychical  developments  stand  to  one  another. 
Such  a  transformation  of  a  thing  most  ordinarily  to  be  con- 
ceived as  non-psychical  into  one  to  be  conceived  as  psychical, 
would  be  unthinkable,  if  in  their  fundamental  nature  they 
were  opposed. 

On  the  contrary  we  are  led  to  conclude  that  both  kinds  of 
forces  must  stand  very  close  to  one  another  in  their  innermost 
nature ;  and  no  artificial  hypotheses  ( §  44)  are  necessary  for  the 
explanation  of  their  intimate  relationship  and  reciprocal  action. 
What  through  the  senses  we  learn  of  the  human  body,  or  what 
we  commonly  term  the  body,  we  have  to  view  only  as  external 
signs  or  representatives  of  the  innermost  nature  of  the  body, 
which,  like  the  soul,  consists  of  certain  forces  and  their  develop- 
ments, that  are  indeed  distinct  from  those  of  the  soul,  but  are 
nevertheless  essentially  of  the  same  kind. 

§  49.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  added,  that  the  different 
fundamental  systems  of  the  soul  also  do  not  develop  con- 
sciousness in  equal  perfection,  but  rather  in  very  significant 
gradations.  And  they  show  the  gradations  in  all  relations 
parallel,  as  we  observe  between  the  positively  psychical 
developments  and  the  bodily  developments  raised  to  the 
psychical.  Thus  the  difference  between  the  soul  and  the 
body  stands  forth  still  more  definitely  than  a  mere  difference 
of  degree.  They  even  approach  so  near  to  one  another  that  no 
real  line  of  separation  can  be  drawn  between  them  in  the  living 
man,  and  in  general  they  are  not  farther  separated  than  the  dif- 
ferent psychical  fundamental  systems  from  one  another.  A 
real  separation  between  soul  and  body  takes  place  first  only  at 
death. 

§  50.  In  any  event  we  are  justified  according  to  the  conclu- 
sions reached,  to  include  the  bodily,  so  far  as  it  develops 


430        FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

consciousness,  in  our  science,  and  to  make  the  attempt  to  dis- 
cover whether  its  developments,  and  especially  its  action  upon 
the  soul,  may  not  be  construed  according  to  the  laws,  which 
have  come  to  light  for  the  positive  psychical  developments  from 
the  facts  observed  by  our  self-consciousness.  It  furthermore 
immediately  appears  from  this,  that  we  have  throughout  to 
suppose  no  other  bond  for  the  connection  of  soul  and  body,  than 
that  by  which  the  psychical  systems  themselves  are  united. 

§  51.  Even  the  most  general  survey  of  the  bodily  develop- 
ments permits  no  doubt  concerning  the  fact,  that  the  four  fund- 
amental laws  which  have  been  established  for  the  psychical, 
likewise  have  their  application  as  determining  and  regulating 
the  bodily,  though  to  be  sure  with  some  modifications.  The 
bodily  forces  also  need  support  from  without,  and  they  strive 
after  and  appropriate  it;  and  in  them,  too,  life  is  propagated 
from  within  by  means  of  continual  acquisition  of  new  homo- 
geneous faculties  or  forces.  In  them  also,  received  stimuli  are 
balanced  with  reference  to  the  formations  which  stand  in  rela- 
tion therewith;  and  the  developments  deprived  in  this  way  of 
excitation  continue  to  exist  in  the  forms  of  traces  or  forces, 
which  thereafter  enter  as  rudiments  into  future  developments. 
Finally,  in  them  too,  a  reciprocal  attraction  between  homo- 
geneous developments  manifests  itself.  They  enter  into  closer 
relation,  or  even  totally  fuse  with  each  other.  As  a  result  of  all 
this  there  is  form.ed  that  which  one  terms  (favorably  or  unfav- 
orably etc.)  the  bodily  constitution.  What  is  lacking  to  the 
bodily  developments  in  all  these  relations,  is  only  a  more  inde- 
pendent development  of  elementary  acts  and  forces,  which 
distinguish  psychical  development  (§  42).  They  coalesce  too 
with  less  regard  to  distinctions;  and  the  forms  of  organisation 
have  therefore  no  such  definite  determination  (§47). 

§  52.  It  is  thus  obvious,  that  the  recognised  fundamental 
laws  prove  effective  for  the  interaction  between  soul  and  body, 
and  the  rudiments  remaining  from  these.  Here  only  the  adjust- 
ment of  the  mobile  elements  and  the  attraction  of  the  homo- 
geneous formations  come  into  consideration.  By  means  of  the 
formier  all  transferences  and  infiuences  which  proceed  from  the 


PSYCHOLOGY  AS  NATURAL  SCIENCE    431 

soul  to  the  body, or  from  the  body  to  the  soul, are  determined: 
especially  in  the  first  direction  every  bodily  doing  or  action 
produced  by  the  soul,  as  well  as  the  involuntary  manifestations 
of  the  emotions,  etc. ;  and  in  the  second  direction  the  manifold 
aids  which  the  psychical  development  experiences  from  the 
bodily,  and  by  means  of  which  the  soul  as  it  were  constantly 
feeds  upon  the  bodily.  The  attraction  in  relation  to  those  things 
homogeneous,  shows  itself  operative  especially  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  tones  from  the  one  to  the  other,  and  in  the  associa- 
tions between  similarly  toned  psychical  and  bodily  develop- 
ments. Moreover,  these  are  operative  in  various  forms,  e.g.,  in 
passions  and  other  emotions,  for  the  production  of  balancings 
among  the  corresponding  bodily  developments,  when  psychical 
developm.ents  meet,  which  by  their  firmer  forms  of  organiza- 
tion, or  otherwise,  are  prevented  from  balancing.  Thus  blushing 
accompanies  shame  and  anger,  etc.;  tears  of  emotion  accom- 
pany the  unexpected  proofs  of  love,  and  deserved  but  long  with- 
held marks  of  distinction,  etc.  From  all  this  it  follows,  that  we 
have  to  conceive  the  bodily  life  as  subordinated  to  the  psychi- 
cal; whereas  materialism  afiirms  that  the  life  of  the  soul  is  only 
an  intensified  bodily;  and  that  as  an  independent  existence  in 
man  there  is  no  soul. 


MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISGH 

(1802-1896) 

EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  ACCORDING  TO 
THE  METHODS  OF  NATURAL  SCIENCE 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

FIFTH    SECTION:    THE    FUNDAMENTAL    EX- 
PLANATION  OF  THE    PSYCHICAL   LIFE 

III.    THE   DYNAMICS  OF  IDEAS  AS  A  PRINCIPLE 
OF  EXPLANATION  OF  PSYCHICAL  PHENOMENA 

§  138.   THE  INTERDEPENDENCE   OF  PSYCHICAL 
PHENOMENA 

In  the  explanation  of  psychical  phenomena  it  is  most  neces- 
sary, that  their  connection  and  interdependence  be  not  ne- 
glected in  the  consideration  of  their  diversity,  because  other- 
wise we  should  set  up  unavoidable  hindrances  to  any  theory 
seeking  for  unity.  Of  this  character  is  particularly  the  assump- 
tion of  an  original  two-  or  threefold  division  of  the  activity  of 
the  mind,  which  is  supposed  to  rest  upon  the  qualitative  differ- 
ence of  inner  phenomena.  After  the  detailed  examination  of 
the  latter  we  should  still  find  impossible  to  place  in  one  and  the 
same  category  as  regards  their  origin,  ideas,  feelings,  and  de- 
sires; on  the  contrary,  we  must  rather  regard  the  lack  of  inde- 
pendence, and  even  actual  dependence  of  the  forms  of  the  latter 
two  kinds  of  phenomena  upon  the  ideas,  as  an  indication  that 
these  in  some  way  lie  at  their  foundation,  and  that  they  are 
capable  of  being  made  comprehensible  as  derived  states.   In- 

*  From  M.  W.  Drobisch's  Empirische  Psychologie  nach  naturwissenschaflichpr 
Mdhode,  Hamburg  und  Leipzig,  1842;  2te  Aufl.  1898. 


EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  433 

deed,  so  many  earlier  psychologists  have  sought  to  prove  this, 
that  we  may  say  the  atomistic  trichotomy  of  the  soul  was  first 
introduced  by  Kant  and  his  school. 

If  now  the  uselessness  of  abstract  powers  of  the  mind  has  been 
made  clear  in  what  has  preceded,  no  one  can  desire  to  revert, 
either  to  a  general  faculty  of  ideas,  or  to  any  specific  kinds  of 
it,  under  the  names  of  sense,  imagination,  understanding,  etc. 
On  the  contrary,  the  ever  increasing  specialisation  of  these  fac- 
ulties, which  becomes  necessary  if  one  somewhat  more  than 
superficially  considers  inner  experience,  shows  that  we  cannot 
pursue  this  method  with  success,  but  have  to  take  one  directly 
opposed.  This  consists  in  supposing  each  single  idea  itself  as  an 
independent  state  of  the  mind,  and  accordingly  an  indefinitely 
large  number  of  such  states.  If  now  to  each  one  of  these  a 
power  is  ascribed  as  cause,  we  thus  acquire,  to  be  sure,  instead 
of  a  moderate  number  of  faculties  of  the  mind,  an  almost  un- 
limited number  of  individual  powers  of  the  mind.  We  do  not 
fail  to  perceive  that  we  are  thereby  still  further,  and  in  a  far 
more  hazardous  way,  removed  from  the  unity  of  the  soul,than 
is  the  case  with  the  theory  of  faculties.  But  if  we  do  not  suc- 
ceed in  comprehending  the  unity  of  ten  or  twenty  faculties,  the 
failure  consequently  is  essentially  not  greater  if  a  thousand  or 
ten  thousand  powers  of  forming  ideas  appear  hard  to  combine. 
Nevertheless  this  would  only  be  a  lamentable  consolation, 
which  we  are  far  from  claiming.  Therefore,  either  we  must  seek 
so  to  justify  that  hypothesis,  that  it  no  longer  controverts  the 
unity  of  the  soul,  or  this  principle  is  not  adequately  estab- 
lished, and  must  be  given  up.  Let  us  then  first  test  somewhat 
more  closely  this  demand  for  the  unity  of  the  soul,  as  the  pos- 
sessor of  the  powers  of  the  mind. 

§  139.     THE    UNITY   OF    THE   SOUL 

If  it  must  be  conceded  that  the  powers  of  the  mind,  as  causes 
of  its  states,  are  not  objects  of  inner  observation,  it  holds  still 
more  true  of  the  mind  itself,  as  the  possessor  of  those  powers. 
For  self-consciousness  by  no  means  reveals  to  us  the  mind,  on 


434        MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH 

the  contrary,  shows  only  the  empirical  I,  from  which  through 
abstraction  of  its  changing  content  the  pure  I  is  first  at- 
tained; but  which,  for  that  very  reason,  is  an  empty  and  really 
formal  idea.  The  identity  of  our  psychical  being  is,  therefore, 
by  no  means  immediately  guaranteed  as  a  fact  by  the  identity 
of  our  self-consciousness,  and  it  is  merely  upon  inferences  that 
this  conviction  is  based.  Without  deeper  metaphysical  argu- 
mentation the  following  observations  can  be  made  upon  this 
subject. 

All  our  ideas  have  a  tendency  to  become  united,  to  exchange 
their  multiplicity  for  unity,  and  they  actually  coalesce,  so  far  as 
the  contradictions  of  their  contents  do  not  prevent.  Our  sensu- 
ous perception,  as  well  as  our  intellectual  conception,  is  a  con- 
stant process  of  unification,  either  through  the  percept,  or  the 
concept;  therefore,  every  theoretical  science  involves  the  effort 
to  reduce  the  principles  of  explanation  to  the  lowest  possible 
number.  The  fact,  that  only  a  few  ideas  can  enter  our  conscious- 
ness at  once,  shows  to  be  sure  at  first  glance,  that  they  displace, 
suppress,  therefore,  as  it  were,  expel  one  another;  but  also  on 
the  other  hand,  that  they  are  not  able  to  avoid  one  another,  but 
are  held  together  by  an  attractive  force.  The  same  thing  like- 
wise appears  in  associations,  these  quite  involuntary  and  art- 
less combinations  of  simultaneous  ideas.  It  is,  therefore,  pos- 
sible to  attribute  similar  attractive  and  repellant  forces  to  ideas, 
after  the  analogy  of  the  physical-chemical  hypothesis  of  attrac- 
tions and  repulsions  of  elements.  But  leaving  out  of  considera- 
tion the  fact,  that  here  attraction  and  repulsion  must  be  ascribed 
simultaneously  to  the  same  elements  of  psychical  life,  which 
beyond  controversy  is  inconceivable  (the  physicist  attributes 
attraction  to  the  molecules,  and  transfers  repulsion  to  the  sur- 
rounding sphere  of  heat),  there  is  furthermore  this  difference, 
that  the  elements  of  bodies  have  an  independent  existence,  so 
that  the  existence  of  the  body  depends  upon  that  of  its  ele- 
ments, which  become  thereby  the  constituents  out  of  which  it 
is  composed. 

Nevertheless,  it  will  not  occur  to  anyone  to  affirm  that  the 
mind  is  composed  of  its  ideas,  and  that  these  have  also 


EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  435 

existence  apart  from  the  mind.  The  mind,  in  which  they  are, 
and  because  they  are  in  it,  which  has  no  constituents  (for  what 
apart  from  ideas,  could  otherwise  be  its  constituents?),  and  is 
consequently  simple,  must  moreover  itself  be  assumed  to  be 
the  principle  of  unity.  This  also  leads  to  the  same  conclusion, 
that  the  body  is  external  to  the  mind,  but  ideas,  feelings,  and 
desires,  are  within  it.  The  mind  is,  therefore,  in  a  middle 
ground  between  outer  and  inner  experience,  as  the  unit  of  mea- 
sure —  belonging  to  no  experience  —  of  things  and  states  of 
the  external  and  internal  world.  With  a  measure  one  can  in- 
deed measure ;  but  one  cannot  wish  to  measure  it  itself,  or  it 
ceases  to  be  a  measure.  One  can  indeed  distinguish  the  parts  in 
it;  but  these  are  only  accidental  parts,  and  not  essential  con- 
stituents. 

§  140.  TEE   REFUTATION   OF    THE   FACULTY 
CONCEPT 

If  accordingly  the  hypothesis  of  the  unity  of  the  soul  appear 
to  us  reasonably  established,  so  that  we  have  to  think  of  it  as 
having  strict  simplicity  of  being,  because  otherwise  a  new  prin- 
ciple of  unification  would  be  needed,  the  question  is  all  the 
more  seriously  renewed,  how  the  other  hypothesis  of  an  un- 
limited number  of  states  of  the  mind  is  supposed  to  be  com- 
patible with  it.  There  corresponds  to  every  individual  sensa- 
tion a  simple  idea  as  a  state  of  the  mind,  and  combined  ideas 
originate  from  these  as  their  elements.  Shall  we  endow  the 
mind  with  as  many  faculties  as  it  has  simple  ideas?  And  if  not, 
what  else  shall  we  do?  In  order  to  decide  this  question,  it  is  ne- 
cessary first  to  determine,  what  must  be  understood  by  facul- 
ties. If  we  oppose  activity  to  it,  as  reality  to  possibility,  the 
entire  concept  of  faculty  is  at  bottom  an  empty  thought,  which 
can  signify  nothing  other,  than  that  after  an  activity  has  origin- 
ated we  can  then  add  in  thought,  that  nevertheless  the  possi- 
bility must  have  been  present  for  it  beforehand.  But  this  possi- 
bilty  is  also  only  a  mode  of  forming  ideas  in  the  mind  of  the 
thinker,  and  is  nothing  in  the  things  themselves;  for  we  should 


436        MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH 

thereby  conceive  an  actual  possibility,  which  is  a  gross  ab- 
surdity. 

In  this  merely  logical  sense  we  will  not  want  to  have  the  con- 
cept of  possibility  taken,  but  we  seek  to  express  thereby,  that 
an  activity  is  existent  in  the  germ  (potentia),  and  only  awaits 
the  opportunity  to  develop  into  actuality  (actu).  We  cannot, 
indeed,  strictly  mean  thereby,  that  the  activity  is  retained 
wholly  as  it  afterwards  manifests  itself,  only  in  a  concentrated 
undeveloped  condition  in  the  mind,  so  that,  therefore,  e.g.,  the 
sensuous  ideas  before  they  appear  in  consciousness  through 
stimulation  of  the  senses,  dwell  in  the  mind  in  the  same  way  as 
they  abide  in  the  recesses  of  the  memory,  after  they  have  be- 
come forgotten.  This  would  make  every  excitation  of  ideas 
from  without  a  mere  appearance,  and  would  therefore  be  a 
view  compatible  only  with  the  most  thoroughgoing  idealism. 
This  is  rather  what  we  mean,  that,  just  as  the  seed-corn,  in  order 
to  germinate  and  develop,  requires  earth,  air,  moisture,  and 
warmth,  but  nevertheless  these  potencies  can  still  bring  into 
development  only  a  seed-corn,  but  by  no  means  a  stone,  or  even 
a  blossom;  so  likewise  a  diversified  capacity  for  forming  ideas, 
is  to  be  understood  as  belonging  to  the  mind,  by  virtue  of  which, 
if  certain  external  conditions  are  associated  therewith,  an 
actual  formation  of  ideas  take  place  in  it. 

If  we  would  discuss  this  concept  metaphysically  we  should 
put  the  question,  whether  the  multiplicity  of  capacities  har- 
monises better  with  the  demanded  unity  of  the  soul,  than  a 
multiplicity  of  actual  powers;  or  whether  the  soul,  if  it  origin- 
ally carries  in  itself  as  the  mode  of  its  existence  such  a  multi- 
plicity of  capacities,  would  be  strictly  regarded  anything  more 
than  a  system  of  the  same,  therefore,  a  compound,  and  what 
then  must  be  deemed  the  significance  of  these  capacities  apart 
from  this  compound?  But  this  may  be  left  out  of  the  present 
discussion. 

Possibly  one  might  think  of  seeking  aid  through  the  analogy 
of  physics,  by  saying  that  the  activity  is  still  united  to  the 
capacity,  latent,  and  becomes /ree  through  development  under 
tJie  cooperation  of  external  conditions.  To  this  suggestion  we 


EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  437 

should  oppose  the  observation,  that  latent  heat  or  electricity 
presupposes  the  free ;  that  this  latter  is  the  first  and  original,  the 
former  only  the  secondary  and  derived  condition.  Latent  activ- 
ities of  the  mind  may  therefore  indeed  be  termed  ideas  stored 
in  memory  beyond  consciousness;  but  the  ideas  originating 
according  to  common  conviction  through  sensory  impressions 
if,  as  becoming  free,  they  are  to  be  viewed  as  previously  bound, 
would  have  to  be  taken  as  platonic  remembrances  out  of  a  pre- 
vious existence,  and  their  sensuous  origin  would  have  to  be  a 
vain  delusion.  To  prove  this  latter  has  up  to  now  been  impos- 
sible for  any  scepticism,  or  any  ideahsm. 

§  141.    IDEAS  AS  STATES  AND  NOT  POWERS 
OF   THE   MIND 

According  to  the  foregoing  every  return  to  faculties,  or  power 
of  forming  ideas,  in  whatever  way  we  may  conceive  these,  ap- 
pears to  lead  to  no  acceptable  result.  We  must,  therefore,  at- 
tempt to  obtain  another  point  of  view  of  ideas,  which  without 
being  content  to  regard  them  as  mere  inner  phenomena,  ex- 
plains both  their  existence,  and  promises  to  make  conceivable, 
as  coming  from  them,  feelings  and  desires.  In  this  attempt  the 
comparison  with  physical  science  affords  us  the  safest  guidance. 
If  the  physicist  says  that  this  body  possesses  the  capacity  to  be- 
come more  heated,  luminous,  electrical,  magnetic,  to  resound,  to 
enter  into  many  chemical  combinations,  etc.,  he  does  not  mean 
by  that,  that  the  body  possesses  certain  faculties  or  dormant 
powers,  which  under  certain  conditions  can  awaken  and  produce 
those  phenomena,  but  he  signifies  thereby  only  certain  disposi- 
tions or  qualities  of  the  body,  whether  these  may  have  their 
location  in  the  bulk  of  its  matter,  in  its  mechanical  composi- 
tion, or  in  the  relation  of  the  quality  of  its  matter  to  that  of  some 
other  body.  If  we  here  speak  of  a  force  as  the  cause  of  such 
a  physical  condition  of  a  body,  it  is  not  transferred  to  this,  but 
is  established  outside  of  it,  and  the  body  appears  only  as  a  thing 
which  is  placed  in  a  certain  condition,  to  which  we  do  not  on  that 
account  ascribe  peculiar  powers;  or  would  we  attribute  to  a 


438        MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH 

heavy  body  a  power  to  fall,  to  the  resonant  a  power  to  sound? 
How  far  even  the  older  physics  was  from  any  such  theory  as 
this,  its  hypothesis  of  a  force  of  inertia  shows.  It  did  not 
attribute  to  a  mobile  body  a  power  of  movement,  but  a  power 
to  resist  movement.  The  new  physics,  on  the  other  hand,  dis- 
cards both,  and  views  rest  and  motion  as  states  which  are  alike 
accidental  to  the  bodies,  but  if  they  are  placed  in  them,  they 
continue  unchanged  until  a  removal  or  modification  of  the  same 
ensues.  The  thought  of  the  capacity  of  bodies  for  these  states 
drops  entirely  as  idle  and  unfruitful. 

To  heed  this  example  of  physics  might  now  be  by  far  the 
most  profitable  method  for  psychology.  It  has  been  already 
remarked  above,  that  in  our  immediate  consciousness  the  form- 
ing of  ideas  appears  neither  as  an  actuality,  nor  a  capacity  of  the 
mind,  but  only  as  a  happening  in  it.  Accordingly,  in  harmony 
with  experience,  we  will  designate  the  ideas  as  states  of  the 
mind,  and  can  affirm  at  least  of  the  sensuous  ideas,  which  form 
the  basis  of  all  others,  that  the  mind  is  placed  in  these  states  by 
means  of  external  causes  through  the  agency  of  the  organs  of 
sense,  which,  like  the  produced  motion  of  a  body,  continues  un- 
changed so  long  as  they  are  not  i^emoved  or  modified  by  addi- 
tional inner  or  outer  causes.  We  consequently  lay  claim  to  the 
principle  of  permanence  (the  law  of  inertia)  for  these  states, 
and  regard  the  mind  as  existence  in  itself,  barren  of  ideas,  and 
accordingly  also  of  feelings  and  desires,  which,  on  account  of  its 
simplicity,  can  attain  to  those  states  only  through  the  manifold 
relations  of  its  quality  to  the  qualities  of  the  things  with  which 
it  stands  in  relation,  —  comparable  to  chemical  affinity. 

The  nature  and  mode  in  which  external  things  affect  the 
mind,  the  conditions  of  the  production  of  any  idea,  remain 
partly  physiological  and  partly  metaphysical  problems.  But 
since  it  is  assumed,  that  the  manifoldness  of  the  relations  of  the 
individual  mind  to  the  external  causes  of  its  simple  ideas  cre- 
ates likewise  a  manifold  constitution  in  the  latter,  the  question 
how  the  unity  of  the  mind  is  consistent  with  the  multiplicity  of 
its  inner  happenings  has  at  least  in  general  no  more  difficulties. 
One  and  the  same  number  can  enter  into  infinitely  numerous 


EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  439 

relations,  and  the  exponent  of  the  relations  is  in  every  case  a 
different  one.  With  such  exponents  the  ideas  may  be  compared ; 
and  with  the  common  fundamental  unit  (the  first  member)  of 
them,  the  mind  itself  may  be  compared.  But  if  one  desires 
more  than  comparisons,  one  has  then  to  do  with  metaphysics, 
which  has  to  discuss  this  question  in  the  systematic  relation  of 
concepts.  For  the  immediate  purpose  it  suffices  to  observe  that 
the  formation  of  ideas  must  be  conceived  not  from  the  point  of 
view  of  a  manifestation  of  power  of  the  mind,  but  as  a  state  of 
the  same,  or  as  a  happening  befalling  it.  The  ideas  must  not  be 
compared  with  powers,  but  with  movements  of  the  mind;  and 
if  a  sensuous  image  is  desired,  they  can  best  be  compared  with 
the  oscillations  of  a  body,  otherwise  externally  at  rest. 

§  142.    THE  FREEDOM  AND  INHIBITION  OF  IDEAS 

The  facts  of  the  changing  attention  and  of  the  disappearance 
of  ideas  from  consciousness,  as  well  as  their  reappearance  in 
it,  reveal  clearly,  that  ideas  although  themselves  only  states  of 
the  mind,  nevertheless  are  capable  of  having  in  their  turn  dif- 
ferent states  of  their  own.  These  are  the  states  of  freedom  and 
of  inhibition  of  ideas.  An  idea  will  then  be  free,  if  simultaneously 
there  be  represented  no  othets  of  opposite  quality,  but  only  of  a 
like  or  dissimilar  constitution.  But  if  opposed  ideas  occur  sim- 
ultaneously, a  diminution  of  that  freedom  takes  place,  which 
can  be  termed  inhibition.  For  as  experience  adequately  shows, 
ideas  do  not  mutually  suppress  one  another,  not  even  when 
some  of  them  become  forgotten  —  for  they  can  be  again 
aroused  under  certain  conditions  —  but  they  are  merely 
brought  into  a  state  in  which  they  cease  wholly  or  in  a  certain 
degree  to  be  ideas;  but  for  all  that  are  neither  destroyed,  nor 
suffer  a  diminution  of  their  being,  which  rather  assumes  only 
another  form.  This  is  the  form  of  striving. 

In  the  same  degree  namely,  in  which  vividness  or  the  con- 
scious clearness  of  an  idea  diminishes,  in  that  degree  a  resist- 
ance to  this  violent  state  and  a  striving  to  free  itself  there- 
from arises  in  it.  Under  such  circumstances  the  idea  certainly 


440        MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH 

becomes  a  force,  but  one  which  is  directed  against  a  definite 
hindrance  obstructing  its  freedom.  It  ceases  at  once  to  be  a 
force  so  soon  as  that  hindrance  disappears,  and  it  has  attained 
again  its  natural  uninhibited  state.  In  this  striving  is  found  the 
principle  for  the  explanation  of  desire ;  it  would,  however,  be 
rash  if  one  were  to  affirm  this  striving  to  be  in  general  the  desire 
itself.  For  manifestly  no  idea  could  disappear  from  conscious- 
ness, imless  its  return  were  desired;  and  all  ideas,  which  we  any 
time  have  had  and  have  long  since  forgotten,  would  have  to 
be  desired,  and  consequently  press  for  return  into  conscious- 
ness. Of  this,  however,  we  do  not  observe  the  least,  and  we  are 
not  even  aware  of  any  such  pressure  on  the  part  of  the  ideas, 
from  which  our  attention  is  momentarily  diverted.  A  conscious 
and  an  unconscious  striving  must  therefore  be  distinguished, 
and  the  conditions  of  this  distinction  must  be  investigated. 

§  143.    THK  INHIBITION  OF  OPPOSING  IDEAS 

In  fact  our  inhibited  striving  is  to  be  conceived  as  at  one 
time  united  with  the  feeling  of  pressure,  and  as  at  another  time 
without  any  such  feeling.  This  indicates  an  essential  difiference 
in  the  inhibition,  according  as  this  occurs  before  or  after  the 
complete  balancing  of  the  opposing  striving  of  ideas.  The 
former  is  combined  with  a  feeling  of  obstruction,  the  latter  is 
free  therefrom,  and  can  be  termed  an  equilibrium  of  ideas, 
which  takes  place  within  or  without  consciousness,  according  as 
the  balanced  ideas  are  in  part  only,  or  wholly  inhibited.  Ideas 
which  are  not  yet  in  equilibrium  will  possess  a  striving  after  it; 
for  only  the  balanced  condition  can  have  a  point  of  rest,  and  the 
inhibition  connected  with  it  will  be  that  which  under  the  given 
circumstances  imposes  upon  the  ideas  the  least  proportionate 
pressure.  More  precise  determinations  of  this  state,  the  condi- 
tions of  equilibrium  of  ideas,  cannot  be  developed  without  the 
aid  of  mathematics.  Ideas  in  equilibrium  are  united  in  general 
neither  with  feelings  nor  with  desires;  but  both  accompany  the 
still  unbalanced  ideas.  Feelings  and  desires  as  distinct  from 
ideas  are  inconceivable.    They  lack  a  definite  representable 


EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  441 

what,  a  quale;  nevertheless  they  are  actually  in  consciousness. 
They  must,  therefore,  be  found  in  it  as  the  manifold  changeable 
how  of  presentation.  Wherein  now  does  this  consist,  and  how 
do  they  differ  from  one  another?  By  what  means  do  I  know  of 
my  desires?  Do  I  perceive  an  act  of  desire  immediately?  Not  at 
all,  I  certainly  feel  only  the  state  of  desire,  but  still  distinguish 
therefrom  the  feeling  which  accompanies  it.  The  desire  destroys 
the  calm,  the  equilibrium  of  the  mind,  or  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, the  equilibrium  of  its  ideas.  If  I  have  a  feeling  of  this 
equilibrium,  a  change  in  it  will  be  a  feeling  of  disturbance.  The 
feeling  of  psychical  equilibrium  is  precisely  similar  to  that  of 
bodily  health.  Of  both  there  exists  no  positive  feeling.  The 
body  as  well  as  the  mind  is  in  a  state  of  equilibrium  when  one 
has  no  feeling  of  its  activities,  just  as  a  machine  in  which  there 
is  the  least  possible  friction  makes  but  little  noise.  Desires  and 
feelings  are,  therefore,  the  indices  of  the  deviation  from  the 
state  of  equilibrium  of  ideas. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  if  we  wish  to  comprehend  their  differ- 
ence, that  desires  are  the  activity,  feelings  the  passivity  of  the 
mind.  Now  desire  is  the  striving  of  that  idea,  whose  content  is 
desired,  against  obstructions,  which  have  their  ground  it  is  true 
outside  of  the  mind,  but  nevertheless  must  be  felt  by  it,  since 
otherwise  the  striving  idea,  which  always  abides  in  the  mind, 
would  find  no  obstruction.  Obstructions  are,  therefore,  at  least 
in  the  broadest  sense  of  the  term,  themselves  ideas.  But  whilst 
the  hindrances  obstruct,  they  react  against  the  striving  idea,  and 
thereby  become  unpleasant.  This  latter  idea  presses  and  is 
pressed ;  in  it  is  the  seat  of  desire ;  in  its  obstructions  is  the  seat 
of  the  unpleasant  feeling  of  resistance  united  therewith.  The 
overcoming  striving  of  an  idea  against  such  obstructions  is 
therefore  the  desire  of  its  content;  and  the  succumbing  resist- 
ance of  what  is  opposed  is  therefore  the  painful  feeling,  which 
is  constantly  united  with  the  postponement  of  the  attainment 
of  what  is  desired.  The  former  is  the  striving,  the  latter  is  the 
suffering  of  the  one  desiring.  The  desire  is,  therefore,  not  felt 
only  in  the  idea  of  the  desired  thing,  also  not  alone  in  that 
which  resists  it,  but  in  both  at  the  same  time,  and  in  their  rela- 


442        MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH 

tion,  which  is  none  other  than  the  disturbance  of  the  preceding 
equilibrium.  But  the  striving  idea,  however,  does  not  itself 
alone  possess  the  power  for  this  disturbance,  but  gains  it  only 
through  union  with  an  internal  or  external  perception  related  to 
it,  which  reproduces  and  lifts  above  the  point  of  equiUbrium, 
and  which  therefore  appears  as  the  external  cause  of  the  origin, 
or  the  reawakening  of  desire.  The  desire  appears  herewith  as  a 
progressing  or  retrogressing  movement  of  ideas;  if  we  regard 
the  maximum  of  their  clearness  as  the  goal  or  culminating 
point.  But  the  mind  itself  is  thereby  immediately  neither 
active,  nor  passive.  It  is  both,  only  mediately,  in  so  far,  that  is 
to  say  as  its  ideas  are  found  in  these  states. 

§  144.  THE  ORIGIN  OF  FEELINGS  AND  DESIRES 

This  is  the  first,  and,  to  be  sure,  only  a  very  meagre  outline 
of  the  origin  of  feelings  and  desires,  of  which  a  further  and  more 
exhaustive  explanation  would  demand  a  more  exact  and  more 
varied  development  of  the  explanatory  principle  postulated  as 
its  basis,  than  is  here  possible  and  consistent  with  the  desired 
aim.  Nevertheless,  it  is  at  least  possible  to  add  the  following 
corollaries. 

(i)  Just  as  the  idea  striving  against  abstractions  causes 
desire,  the  idea  retreating  reluctantly  from  consciousness 
causes  repugnance.  For  manifestly  the  content  represented  in 
it  is  the  object  of  repugnance,  but  the  energy  of  the  repugnance 
is  contained  in  the  ideas  opposed  to  this  idea,  which  repel  and 
gradually  suppress  it;  the  stronger  the  resistance  of  the  reced- 
ing idea,  so  much  the  stronger  is  the  emotion  of  abhorrence. 

(2)  Feelings  of  oppression  can  also  arise  without  desire  and 
abhorrence,  that  is  to  say,  without  a  progressive  or  retrogres- 
sive movement  of  ideas.  For  granted  an  idea  is  in  itself  too 
weak  to  continue  in  consciousness  when  opposed  by  many 
stronger  ones,  and  thus  to  be  in  equilibrium  with  them,  it  can 
nevertheless  happen  by  the  following  means,  that  it  is  asso- 
ciated with  an  idea  of  a  dissimilar  content,  which  affords  the 
support   demanded   for  equihbrium  with   the   others.    The 


ExMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  443 

memory-image  of  the  room  which  I  occupied  many  years  ago 
as  a  schoolboy  is  itself  not  capable  of  continuing  beside  the 
intuitions  of  the  present;  but  if  by  a  related  perception  the 
damp,  musty  smell  is  reproduced,  which  at  that  time  made  its 
occupancy  not  the  most  agreeable,  then  the  image  emerges 
with  full  vividness  and  continues  in  my  consciousness.  But 
nevertheless,  any  such  recollection  always  demands  a  certain 
effort,  and  this  consists  in  the  fact  that  the  retained  idea  is  In  a 
pressed  position  between  the  opposed  ideas  seeking  to  sup- 
plant it,  and  those  dissimilar  which  afford  to  it  the  necessary 
support.  Hence  arises  a  feeling  of  oppression. 

(3)  An  idea,  finally,  can  also  arise  notwithstanding  opposing 
hindrances,  that  is  to  say,  when  this  rising  occurs  under  the 
protection  of  a  stronger  idea  entirely  homogeneous  with  it, 
which  removes  the  obstacles  in  its  way,  and  thereby  makes  for 
it  a  free  path.  Then  the  obstacles  disappear  as  if  dispelled  by 
magic,  like  the  impotent  spectres  of  the  night  before  the  light 
of  day.  Under  such  circumstances  the  rising  idea  possesses  more 
elasticity  than  it  can  expend,  and  the  character  of  its  move- 
ment creates  a  feeling  of  pleasure. 

With  these  corollaries  we  must  here  be  content,  for  the  condi- 
tions under  which  the  feelings  of  the  good  and  the  beautiful 
arise,  lie  too  deep  to  permit  of  being  here  developed  with  any 
clearness. 

§   145.  THE   EQUILIBRIUM   AND   MOVEMENT   OF 

IDEAS 

The  concepts  of  freedom  and  inhibition,  of  equilibrium  and 
movements,  of  striving  and  resistance  of  ideas,  developed  with 
the  sharpest  lines  of  differentiation,  must  henceforth,  solely  and 
alone,  take  the  place  of  the  theory  of  the  abstract  faculties  of 
ideas,  feeling,  and  desire,  as  explanatory  principles.  But  they 
serve,  moreover,  to  supplant  the  more  special  faculties  sub- 
ordinated to  these  in  a  manner  more  conformable  to  experi- 
ence. Our  entire  analysis  of  psychical  phenomena  must  have 
demonstrated,  that  association  and  reproduction  are  the  keys 


444        MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH 

which  open  the  portals  of  the  inner  life  of  the  soul.  But  the 
principles  themselves  henceforth  can  be  proved  to  be  derived 
from  others  lying  deeper.  For  association  is  the  result  of  the 
unity  of  the  soul,  by  means  of  which  all  the  states  of  the  latter, 
so  far  as  their  contrasts  admit  it,  unite  and  enter  combinations 
under  all  circumstances.  But  reproduction  rests  in  part  imme- 
diately upon  associations,  and  in  part  upon  the  concepts  of  free- 
dom and  inhibition  of  ideas. 

In  general  the  apparent  manifestation  of  the  faculties  of  the 
mind  rests  upon  combinations,  aggregations  of  ideas  in  the 
large,  which  we  can  style  with  Herbart  masses  of  ideas  (Vors- 
tellungsmassen) ,  which  developed  with  more  or  less  regularity 
are  interwoven  out  of  series,  and  series  of  series ;  and  move- 
ments and  transformations  of  these  masses  of  ideas  appear  in 
place  of  the  activity  of  the  faculties.  The  individual  faculties 
are  distinguished  in  part  formally  by  the  different  kind  of  the 
formation  of  the  masses  in  which  they  have  their  location ;  and 
in  part  materially  by  the  kind  of  ideas  which  make  up  the  mate- 
rial of  the  mass.  By  means  of  the  latter  we  can  understand  the 
so  frequently  occurring  partiality  of  memory,  of  imagination, 
and  of  the  understanding. 

Memory,  therefore,  we  may  ascribe  to  our  mind  in  so  far  as  it 
possesses  ideas,  which  still  bear  the  characteristics  of  their  first 
origin,  and  which  return  to  consciousness,  out  of  which  they 
have  been  crowded  by  others,  according  to  the  same  temporal 
order  as  that  in  which  they  originated,  in  that  train  of  recol- 
lected thought  which  is  conformable  to  the  laws  of  memory. 

Imagination  we  can  ascribe  to  our  mind  in  so  far  as  it  pos- 
sesses ideas,  in  which  the  characteristics  of  their  first  sensuous 
origin  are  obliterated,  which  therefore  no  longer  occupy  a 
definite  place  among  other  after  images  of  former  perceptions, 
and  are  no  longer  reproduced  in  the  temporal  sequence  of  the 
same.  But  the  most  manifold  combinations  are  entered  upon, 
according  to  all  the  laws  of  association,  which  enable  it  to 
perform  even  as  manifold  reproductions,  and  to  give  them  that 
easy  mobility,  by  which  the  making  of  more  and  more  numer- 
ous combinations  of  surpassing  novelty  is  rendered  possible. 


EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  445 

Understanding  belongs  to  our  mind  in  so  far  as  there  exists 
in  it  masses  of  ideas  whose  combinations,  independent  of  all 
accidental  circumstances  of  their  encounter,  are  completely- 
adapted  to  the  nature  of  their  content,  and  therefore  corre- 
spond to  the  relations  of  things ;  it  may  be,  that,  as  in  theoretical 
understanding,  this  content  is  sharply  separated  in  conceptual 
definitions,  or,  as  in  the  practical  understanding,  is  rightly  recog- 
nised only  in  relation  to  the  content  of  another  idea. 

Our  mind  possesses  will,  in  so  far  as  it  has  masses  of  ideas, 
whose  content  represent  what  is  willed,  and  whose  striving 
exercises  a  decisive  control  over  other  ideas  and  combinations 
of  ideas. 

The  mind  is  rational,  if  the  moral  insight  has  become  the 
kernel  and  centre  of  the  mass-of-ideas  ruling  all  others.  But 
man  as  a  natural  creature  is  called  rational  in  so  far  as  adapta- 
tions have  been  made  in  his  physical  organisation,  which  makes 
possible  the  development  of  moral  insight,  and  the  attainment 
of  it  to  power,  but  do  not  prevent  it  as  in  the  case  of  the  lower 
animals. 

Finally  with  momentary  perceptions  the  mind  possesses 
sensibility. 

§  146.  THE  STAGES  IN  THE  FORMATION  OF  THE 

SPIRIT 

With  this  explanation  and  limitation  of  the  apparent  faculties 
of  the  mind  the  view  can  now  be  united,  which  discerns  the 
different  stages  in  the  formation  of  the  spirit.  Indeed  it  is  ob- 
vious, that  thereby  the  transformations  must  at  the  same  time 
be  considered,  which  affect  the  body  in  its  different  periods  of 
life,  and  which  without  doubt  favor  and  support  the  psychical 
processes.  But  after  the  subtraction  of  these  bodily  condi- 
tions there  remain  nevertheless  always  a  series  of  purely 
psychical  transformations  residual,  resting  chiefly  upon  the 
changes  which  take  place  in  the  combinations  of  ideas. 

Ideas  are  barren  of  connection  and  therefore  purely  sensuous 
in  their  first  origin  in  the  newborn  child,  but  after  a  short  time 


446        MORITZ  WILHELM  DROBISCH 

those  associations  have  already  been  formed  which  are  neces- 
sary to  memory,  and  a  little  later  that  desire  appears,  which 
not  always  the  need  of  food,  but  often  only  the  sight  of  the 
nurse  calls  forth.  In  the  boy,  it  is  true,  highly  manifold  com- 
binations of  ideas  have  been  formed,  and  we  must  concede  to 
him  memory  and  imagination,  understanding  and  will,  in  very 
many  spheres  of  his  capacity  for  forming  ideas.  But  neverthe- 
less, sensibility,  memory,  and  imagination  still  dominate  in  him, 
to  which  his  fondness  for  sweetmeats,  his  love  of  sightseeing  and 
curiosity,  his  ability  for  learning  by  heart,  his  joy  in  narratives 
of  adventure,  his  desire  for  spx^rt,  sufficiently  testify.  The 
youth  begins  to  feel :  the  scattered  ideas  concentrate  in  him  to 
form  a  more  abiding  and  more  powerful  empirical  self,  by  which 
he  not  only  acquires  power  over  his  actions  and  thereby  be- 
comes responsible,  but  also  learns  to  guide  his  imagination  in 
poetic  composition,  and  to  formulate  his  thought  in  reflection. 
With  higher  self-consciousness  the  inner  world  opens  before 
him,  and  with  it  the  finer  feeling  for  the  beautiful  in  nature,  art, 
poetry,  and  the  other  sex.  —  Still  experience  is  lacking,  which 
gives  maturity  to  the  understanding.  This  manhood  gives  with 
increasing  needs  and  cares,  for  the  supplying  of  which  under- 
standing must  serve;  but  the  execution  of  its  decisions  de- 
mands energy  of  the  will,  and  the  duties  to  society  and  to  the 
family,  a  moral  content  of  the  will.  Self-control  must,  therefore, 
now  be  present  in  constant  increase,  and  a  constant,  true,  and 
reasonable  activity  towards  the  outer  world  must  take  the 
place  of  youthful  vacillation.  With  self-control  reason  is  finally 
acquired,  the  strength  of  which  must  increase  in  the  same  meas- 
ure as  that  in  which  sensuous  impressionabiUty,  the  power  of 
desires  and  passions,  decrease. 

Thus  the  combinations  among  ideas  become  greater  in  num- 
ber, and  more  perfected  in  the  course  of  life,  and  as  a  result  of  it 
restrain  and  control  its  movements.  The  stress  of  emotions  and 
passions  give  place  to  more  mature  considerations ;  absentmind- 
edness  and  the  flightiness  of  imagination  yield  to  the  sharp 
attention  and  many  sided  circumspectness  of  reflection;  know- 
ledge tempers  the  disquietude  of  doubt;  and  when  this  know- 


EMPIRICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  447 

ledge  can  go  no  further,  faith  succeeds  to  its  function.  The 
entire  development  of  the  mind  progresses  always  towards  a 
more  and  more  harmonious  form,  and  its  activity  towards  a 
more  and  more  peaceful  movement.  But  there  are  not  newly 
awakening  faculties  of  the  mind  which  produce  this  change  of 
phenomena;  but  there  are  always  only  the  ideas,  their  com- 
binations and  movements,  ideation  and  its  states,  by  means 
of  which  they  become  intelligible. 


FRANCOIS  PIERRE  GONTHIER 
MAINE  DE  BIRAN 

(1766-1824) 

ESSAY  UPON  THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF 
PSYCHOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  French*  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

CHAPTER  L    FACTS  OF  THE  INNER  SENSE 


I  SHALL  characterise  from  the  present  this  inner  sense  (sens 
intime)  in  a  more  explicit  manner  under  the  name  of  sense  oj 
effort,  of  which  the  cause  or  productive  force  becomes  self,  by 
the  single  fact  of  the  distinction  which  is  established  between 
the  subject  of  that  free  effort,  and  the  object  which  resists  im- 
mediately through  its  own  inertia.  I  say  immediately,  in  order 
to  announce  here  in  advance  another  very  essential  distinction, 
that  I  beHeve  myself  authorized  to  set  up  between  the  resist- 
ance or  relative  inertia  of  one's  own  body,  which  yields  to  or 
obeys  voluntary  effort,  and  the  absolute  resistance  of  the  for- 
eign body,  which  may  be  invincible. 

.  The  sense  of  effort  has  not  been  designated  until  now  by  its 
specific  name,  precisely  because  it  is  the  innermost,  or  the 
nearest  to  ourselves,  or  rather  because  it  is  ourselves.  If  one 
should  demand  at  this  stage  to  be  made  acquainted  with  it  by 
a  more  detailed  exposition,  I  should  reply,  that  each  of  our 
senses  defines  itself  by  its  exercise.  If  there  were,  for  example, 
one  born  paralytic  who  had  never  acted  voluntarily  to  move 

*  From  M.a\ne  deBira.n'3  Essai  sur  les  fondemenis  de  la  psychologic  (181 3),  in 
his  (Euvres  itUdites,  publi^es  par  Ernest  Naville,  Paris,  1859,  ^om.  i. 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN  449 

his  Umbs  or  to  set  in  motion  foreign  bodies,  —  supposing  that 
such  a  person,  which  appears  impossible  to  me,  could  have 
had  the  least  degree  of  intelligence,  —  there  would  be  no  more 
possibility  to  make  him  understand  by  language  what  effort  is, 
than  there  is  to  explain  to  one  born  blind  what  color  and  the 
sense  of  sight  are.  Nevertheless,  as  one  explains  not  the  sense 
or  the  phenomenon  of  vision,  but  rather  the  conditions,  in- 
struments, and  physical  or  organic  means,  which  serve  to  effect 
it,  it  will  perhaps  not  be  useless  to  analyse  also  physically 
the  instruments  and  means  of  exercise  of  the  internal  sense  of 
effort,  in  order  to  learn  the  better  to  circumscribe  its  domain 
by  distinguishing  it  from  that  of  an  external  sense  with  which 
it  might  be  confused.  I  shall  therefore  enter  upon  some  con- 
siderations which  appear  to  me  important. 

This  study,  foreign  as  it  is  to  the  proper  analysis  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  inner  sense,  which  excludes  everything  that  be- 
longs to  the  province  of  external  observation,  will  be  included 
more  expressly  in  the  object  of  another  portion  of  this  work, 
where  we  shall  be  occupied  more  particularly  with  the  relation 
of  the  phenomena  of  physical  or  organic  nature  than  with  those 
of  psychology;  but  I  cannot  proceed  without  giving  the  follow- 
ing physiological  hints  as  indispensable  to  my  actual  purpose. 

1 .  The  organs  of  sensation  with  which  the  physiologists  have 
heretofore  been  exclusively  occupied,  appear  confined  to  the 
cerebral  nervous  system,  distinguished  by  a  well  known  ob- 
server ^  under  the  title  of  the  Nervous  system  of  animal  life.  The 
sense  of  effort,  here  in  question,  is  limited  by  that  part  of  the 
muscular  system,  which  the  action  of  the  will  expressly  sets  in 
play,  and  which  physiology  distinguishes  also  under  the  title  of 
a  System  of  the  voluntary  muscles  of  the  animal  life. 

2.  In  the  natural  and  original  state  of  the  sentient  being 
there  is  no  affection  felt  in  any  part  whatsoever  of  its  organism, 
nor  any  object  perceived  externally,  except  in  so  far  as  the  nerv- 
ous extremities  are  at  first  excited  by  some  cause  foreign  to 
the  self,  and  as  this  first  impression  is  uninterruptedly  trans- 
mitted by  the  sensory  nerves  which  receive  it  as  far  as  the 

*  Cf.  Bicbat's  works:  De  la  vie  et  la  mort  and  Anatomie  Physiologique. 


450    THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

centre  of  the  brain,  where  perception  is  supposed  to  occur, 
although  we  are  profoundly  ignorant  of  what  takes  place  in  the 
nerves  and  the  brain  whenever  an  impression  is  felt  or  per- 
ceived. Nevertheless,  daily  experience  proves  that  such  percep- 
tion is  always  preceded  or  accompanied  by  the  organic  condi- 
tions which  we  have  just  mentioned.  But  in  the  exercise  of  the 
sense  of  effort  something  more  takes  place. 

Let  us  first  suppose  that  the  muscular  organ  be  excited  by  an 
external  cause,  or  by  a  stimulus  adapted  to  set  in  play  that  vital 
property  that  the  physiologists  name  irritability  or  sensory 
organic  contractility;  or  again,  let  us  suppose  that  a  movable 
part  may  be  aroused  or  strongly  agitated  by  an  external  force, 
there  will  indeed  clearly  result  from  it  a  particular  impression, 
which  one  may  call  muscular  sensation  or  sensation  of  move- 
ment, but  which  could  not  be  confused  with  that  mode  of  our 
activity  which  we  designate  by  the  term  of  willed  effort.  In 
fact,  this  muscular  sensation  is  subject  to  the  same  laws  or 
organic  conditions  which  determine  the  general  sensory  func- 
tions; it  is  always  an  impression  received  and  transmitted  to 
the  brain,  where  it  is  felt  as  a  passive  mode  foreign  to  the  will  or 
to  the  self.  But  in  effort  such  as  we  perceive  and  reproduce  at 
each  instant,  there  is  no  excitation,  no  foreign  stimulus,  and 
nevertheless  the  muscular  organ  is  set  in  play,  the  contraction 
efifected,  the  movement  produced,  without  any  cause  other 
than  this  inner  force  which  is  felt  or  immediately  perceived  in 
its  exercise,  and  also  without  any  sign  being  capable  of  repre- 
senting it  to  the  imagination  or  to  some  sense  other  than  its  own. 

Let  us  however  represent  this  force  in  exercise  by  an  image, 
and,  by  placing  ourselves  for  a  moment  at  the  physiological 
point  of  view,  let  us  suppose  that  it  be  localised  in  the  centre  of 
the  brain.  When  the  effort  is  made,  this  central  spring  to  the 
release  of  which  there  is  referred  by  a  sort  of  imaginary  fiction 
the  feeling  of  our  activity,  will  be  said  to  enter  into  action  of  it- 
self.^ I  adopt  this  last  expression,  as  a  material  sign  of  voluntary 
effort,  or  of  an  action  which  is  neither  actually  compelled  nor 

^  An  expression  of  M.  Cabanis  in  his  great  work  upon  the  Rapports  du 
physique  et  du  moral  de  I'homme. 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN  451 

provoked  by  any  sensory  impression  coming  from  without,  nor 
even  produced  in  any  part  of  the  nervous  system  outside  the 
centre.  The  first  motor  determination  being  thus  begotten  in 
the  centre,  is  immediately  transmitted  by  the  nerves  to  the 
muscular  organ.  This  is  contracted,  or  extended;  its  specific 
irritability  is  set  in  action,  as  it  could  be  by  a  foreign  stimulus. 
But,  whereas,  in  this  last  case,  the  simple  passive  muscular 
sensation  commences  at  the  external  organ  in  order  to  termi- 
nate at  the  centre  which  receives  it;  here  the  active  motor 
stimulus  commences  in  the  centre  where  the  cause  resides, 
which,  after  having  performed  the  contraction  or  movement, 
perceives  as  effect  by  means  of  the  nervous  transmission  the 
muscular  impression  which  it  originates  in  the  beginning.  I 
here  discover  the  symbol  of  complete  action,  the  physiological 
signs  of  which  I  must  endeavor  to  analyse  more  expressly;  be- 
cause, it  is  upon  these  signs  alone  that  the  analysis  can  here 
be  based,  since  every  action  of  the  will  is  truly  indivisible  and 
instantaneous  as  known  through  the  inner  sense. 

In  considering,  therefore,  this  action  from  the  point  of  view 
of  physiology,  I  distinguish  two  elements,  or  two  moments, 
in  which  it  is  accomplished.  To  the  first  corresponds  the  simple 
motor  determination  or  the  release  of  the  central  spring 
affecting  the  nerves.  However,  that  part  of  the  action,  thus 
limited 'to  the  nervous  system,  does  not  appear  to  be  accom- 
panied by  a  particular  internal  perception ;  but  supposing  there 
were  such  perception,  and  that  it  were  not  such  as  to  be  neces- 
sarily confused  with  that  of  resistance  or  inertia  of  the  con- 
tracted muscle,  which  accompanies  or  immediately  follows  it, 
one  still  could  not  regard  it  as  the  symbolical  sign  of  individual- 
ity or  of  the  self,  which  can  begin  to  know  itself,  or  to  exist  for 
itself,  only  so  far  as  it  can  distinguish  itself  as  subject  of  effort 
from  an  object  which  resists.  Thus  the  kind  of  obscure  per- 
ception which  would  correspond  to  this  incomplete  action 
which  is  performed  from  a  single  centre  upon  a  homogeneous 
nervous  system,  would  be  still  only  a  vague  and  confused  feel- 
ing of  existence,  to  which  perhaps  some  species  of  animals  are 
limited.  To  the  second  moment  corresponds  that  which  takes 


452    THE  POUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

place  in  the  motor  system,  from  the  instant  when  the  muscle 
contracts,  until  the  effect  of  the  contraction  is  transmitted  or 
carried  to  the  centre,  where  the  muscular  sensation  then  takes 
on  this  characteristic  of  reduplication  which  constitutes  the 
inner  consciousness  of  effort,  inseparable  from  a  resistance,  or 
the  inner  consciousness  of  the  self  which  knows  itself  by  dis- 
tinguishing itself  from  the  resisting  object. 

Let  us  now  pass  from  the  symbol  or  the  sign  to  the  thing  sig- 
nified, and  compare  the  internal  facts  with  the  hypotheses  or  the 
physiological  facts. 

We  know,  from  a  very  constant  experience,  that  the  sentient 
being  can  never  give  to  itself  by  any  exercise  of  its  activity, 
those  agreeable  or  disagreeable  impressions  which  affects  it  in 
spite  of  itself;  that  it  is  not  the  artisan  nor  the  creator  of  those 
sensations  or  of  those  images  which  come  into  existence,  suc- 
ceed one  another  or  disappear,  without  any  concurrence  of  its 
will,  or  even  against  its  desire.  We  know,  moreover,  from  the 
observation  of  sentient  nature,  and  from  the  various  experi- 
ments of  physiologists,  that  there  exist  sure  and  constant 
means  to  set  in  play  the  animal  sensitivity  by  appropriate 
excitations,  and  to  draw  from  the  sentient  being  all  the  signs  of 
the  affections,  of  pain,  or  of  physical  pleasure,  that  one  makes  it 
undergo.  The  internal  sense  of  effort  on  the  other  hand  can  be 
set  in  play  only  by  this  force,  which  is  interior  and  sui»  generis, 
that  we  call  will,  and  with  which  what  we  call  our  self  is  com- 
pletely identified. 

The  power  of  effort,  or  the  ability  to  commence  and  to  con- 
tinue any  series  of  movements  or  of  actions,  is  a  fact  of  inner 
sense  as  evident  as  that  of  our  existence  itself.  There  is  no  for- 
eign force  to  which  that  power  is  necessarily  subordinated. 
Observe  thus,  how  powerless  all  the  external  or  artificial  means 
may  be  which  would  tend  to  imitate  the  results  of  that  acting 
force,  or  to  reproduce  and  to  provoke  the  signs  of  its  manifes- 
tation. If  you  apply  a  stimulus,  either  directly  upon  a  muscle, 
or  upon  the  trunk,  or  the  nervous  centre  which  send  ramifica- 
tions to  it,  you  of  a  certainty  bring  about  contractions,  sensed 
in  the  living,  and  purely  organic  in  the  dead.  In  regard  to  the 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN  453 

will  of  man,  or  the  power  of  effort,  it  dwells  in  independence  in 
the  innermost  being,  beyond  all  reach  of  any  excitation  from 
without.  Neither  the  inducements  of  pleasure,  nor  the  goads  of 
pain,  are  capable  of  irresistibly  compelling  it.  When  it  exer- 
cises itself,  all  physiological  laws  are  disturbed;  all  the  ex- 
ternal signs  of  sensitivity  or  of  contractihty  are  uncertain,  and 
can  be  quiescent  or  deceptive.  How  powerless,  for  example, 
the  most  excruciating  pain  over  the  will  of  a  Mucins 
Scevola?  Before  it  yields,  the  arm  which  it  holds  motionless 
upon  the  burning  coals  will  be  reduced  to  ashes.  Is  not  then  the 
force  which  thus  dominates  sensibility  and  rules  it  by  its  own 
laws,  which  compels  the  body  to  stop  or  to  rush  forward,  even 
when  its  instinct  urges  it  to  flight,  a  force  that  is  specific  and 
sui  juris. 

But  still  we  cannot  speak  of  that  moral  force  guided  by 
motives  which  can  render  effort  sublime.  Before  motives  to 
act  exist,  there  is  surely  a  power  of  movement  or  of  action ;  be- 
fore this  movement  has  become  means,  it  has  first  been  itself 
the  aim  or  proper  end  of  the  willing.  Finally  it  is  necessary  that 
the  self  shall  have  begun  to  exist  for  itself,  or  to  circumscribe 
itself  in  its  own  domain,  before  extending  over  nature  its 
constitutive  force.  Thereby  are  justified  those  considerations 
which  might  appear  to  us  somewhat  too  minute,  and  to  others 
too  closely  allied  to  this  materialism  which  they  are  calculated 
to  attack  in  its  first  foundation. 

For  us,  therefore,  who  are  here  occupied  only  with  a  primi- 
tive fact  of  the  inner  sense,  the  will  is  as  yet  only  the  power  of 
effort.  We  have  just  characterised  this  force  through  the  signs, 
or  the  first  conditions,  or  the  instruments  of  its  exercise.  We 
now  need  to  seek  by  analysis,  what  may  be  the  origin  of  this 
exercise,  and  that  of  the  individual  personality  which  cannot  be 
separated  from  it.  But  before  entering  upon  this  analysis,  let 
us  summarise  the  consequences  of  what  precedes. 

I .  The  primitive  fact  of  the  inner  sense  is  none  other  than  that 
of  a  voluntary  effort,  inseparable  from  some  organic  resistance, 
or  from  some  muscular  sensation  of  which  the  self  is  cause.  This 
fact  is  thus  a  relation  of  which  the  two  terms  are  distinct  with- 


454    THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

out  being  separated.  In  order  that  they  should  be  separated, 
it  would  be  necessary,  under  the  physiological  hypothesis  taken 
as  a  symbol,  that  the  immediate  action  exerted  from  the  centre 
upon  the  motor  nerves  be  accompanied  by  a  particular  internal 
perception,  distinct  and  separate  from  the  muscular  sensation ; 
but  therefore,  the  same  internal  perception  would  consist  in  an- 
other relation  still  more  inner,  between  the  hyperorganic  force 
exerted  from  the  centre  and  the  nerves  upon  which  it  immedi- 
ately acts.  It  would  be,  therefore,  the  nervous  inertia  which 
would  replace  in  that  case  the  muscular  inertia,  and  the  charac- 
ter of  the  primitive  fact  would  not  be  changed. 

2.  The  essential  character  of  the  primitive  fact  consists  in 
that,  that  neither  one  nor  the  other  of  the  terms  of  the  funda- 
mental relation  is  constituted  in  necessary  dependence  upon  the 
impressions  from  without.  Hence  the  knowledge  of  the  self  can 
be  separated  in  its  principle  from  that  of  the  external  universe. 

3.  The  effort-cause,  or  the  selj  has  the  internal  consciousness 
of  its  existence  as  soon  as  it  can  distinguish  this  cause,  which  is 
itself,  from  the  effect  or  from  the  contraction  referred  to  the 
organic  object,  which  is  no  longer  itself,  and  which  it  places 
outside.^ 

4.  The  primitive  fact  which  necessarily  serves  as  the  point 
of  departure  to  science,  therefore  resolves  itself  into  a  primary 
effort,  where  analysis  is  still  able  to  distinguish  two  elements:  a 
hyperorganic  force  naturally  in  relation  with  a  living  resistance. 

5.  The  idea  or  reflexive  abstract  notion  of  force  is  later 
deduced  from  the  fact,  or  from  the  primitive  feeling  of  effort. 
In  following  an  inverse  course  and  starting  from  the  idea  of 
absolute  force,  all  the  metaphysicians,  up  to  and  inclusive  of 
Locke,  have  displaced  the  origin  of  science.  They  have  desired 
to  deduce  the  actual  and  the  real  from  the  possible:  that  was 
to  begin  in  darkness. 

We  do  not  fear  to  lose  ourselves  in  darkness  by  seeking  at 
present  how  effort  can  begin  to  be  willed,  what  the  origin  is  of 
this  primary  action,  of  this  free  will,  which  is  the  primary  condi- 

^  We  shall  see  that  this  outside  is  not  external  extensity,  nor  even  the  form  of 
space,  such  as  the  Kantians  conceive  it,  as  inherent  to  sensibility. 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN  455 

tion  of  the  consciousness  of  one's  self,  and,  consequently,  of  all 
other  consciousness.  We  have  a  thread  which  guides  us  in  these 
researches,  and  which,  if  it  does  not  lead  to  the  absolute  truth 
which  we  seek,  enables  us  at  least  not  to  lose  ourselves  in  ideal 
regions,  whence  there  would  be  no  outlet  or  means  to  retrace 
our  steps. 

CHAPTER   11.    THE  ORIGIN    OF  EFFORT,  AND  OF 
PERSONALITY 

If  it  were  true,  as  philosophers  who  have  attempted  to 
derive  everything  from  desire  think,  that  will  were  nothing 
other  than  desire,  which  itself  is  confused  with  a  first  need  of 
the  organised  living  being ;  if  it  were  true,  or  conformed  to  the 
facts  of  the  inner  sense,  that  instinctive  determinations,  re- 
garded as  completed  sensations,  embraced  judgment,  desire, 
or  will ;  if  finally  it  were  true,  that  the  very  first  movement  made 
by  each  of  us  had  been  accompanied  by  will,  it  would  be  very 
useless  to  seek,  I  do  not  say,  the  origin  of  that  absolute  force 
identical  with  the  soul,  or  of  that  which  stands  for  it  in  all  sys- 
tems, but  the  origin  of  the  feeling  of  its  exercise,  or  of  the  effort 
with  which  the  ego  identifies  itself.  This  origin  indeed  would  be 
confused  with  the  first  rudiments  of  life,  and  would  be  traced 
back  to  the  organic  germ  which  possibly  exists  before  fecunda- 
tion. If  this  system  were  that  of  nature,  it  would  turn  out  I  have 
pursued  up  to  the  present  only  a  chimera,  and  all  the  precise 
distinctions  I  have  sought  to  establish  would  disappear  like 
vain  shadows.  The  obligation  is  thus  imposed  upon  me  to 
make  it  evident  that  my  present  researches  have  a  real  object, 
or  that  there  may  be  an  origin  of  voluntary  effort  or  of  the 
self,  posterior  in  order  of  time  to  the  birth  of  the  sentient  being, 
to  the  first  instinctive  determinations,  to  the  needs,  and  even 
to  the  desire,  which  differ  from  the  will,  properly  so  called,  as 
passion  differs  from  action. 

I  am  going  at  the  outset  to  place  myself  anew  at  the  physi- 
ological point  of  view,  and  upon  the  very  ground  of  the 
philosophers  who  have  assimilated  or  confounded  in  the  origin, 


456    THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

everything  that  I  believe  should  be  distinguished  or  even 
separated,  in  order  to  have  a  science  of  principles.  If  the  dis- 
tinctions that  I  establish  turn  out  to  be  confirmed  by  physio- 
logy itself  they  are  doubtless  likely  to  receive  in  consequence 
more  weight  and  value  in  the  eyes  of  those  to  whom  I  take  the 
liberty  of  opposing  them. 

According  to  the  principles  of  a  physiologist,^  who  was  gifted 
with  the  genius  of  experiment  rather  than  with  the  talent  for 
classification,  one  is  justified  in  the  recognition  of  three  modes, 
or  three  kinds  of  muscular  contractility,  which  are  distin- 
guished among  themselves  in  the  same  manner  as  the  causes 
which  produce  or  determine  the  contractions.  The  first  kind  is 
a  simple  organic  property  inherent  to  the  muscular  fibre,  and 
which  has  been  known  since  Haller  by  the  term  irritahility.  We 
have  no  need  to  know  up  to  what  point  the  nervous  influence 
contributes  to  set  it  in  action,  because  this  property,  simply 
vital,  happens  to  be  outside  of  the  object  of  our  researches. 
What  is  of  importance  to  us,  is  to  recognise  the  truly  distin- 
guishing characteristics  in  the  sentient  contractility,  which  may 
also  be  called  animal,  and  a  contractility  properly  voluntary. 
Let  us  seek,  therefore,  to  specify  clearly  the  physiological  char- 
acteristics of  these  two  kinds.  Both  of  them  expressly  relate  to 
cerebral  influence,  but  under  very  different  conditions,  and  it 
is  not  permissible  to  confuse  them  even  physiologically. 

Affective  impressions  excited  in  the  nervous  system  by  for- 
eign or  inner  causes,  being  transmitted  to  the  brain  or  to  some 
other  of  the  partial  centres,  determine  those  powerful  reactions 
which  tend  to  set  in  play  the  locomotor  organs:  hence  the  ani- 
mal contractions  and  all  the  instinctive  movements.  I  have 
just  spoken  of  partial  centres  as  of  points  of  reaction,  because 
it  is  not  proved  that  it  is  the  direct  influence  of  a  single  centre 
which  determines  always  the  instinctive  locomotion  of  animals 
as  of  the  foetus,  and  several  analogies  tend  to  prove  the  opposite. 
Supposing,  what  appears  to  be  contradicted  by  many  physiolog- 
ical observations,  that  a  single  centre  determines  solely  by  its 
reaction  the  kind  of  movement  which  is  in  question  here,  at 

^  Cf.  Bichat's  Rechcrclus  physiologiqucs  stir  la  vie  ct  la  mort. 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN  457 

least  it  is  true  that  this  centre  plays  in  that  case  a  passive  or 
merely  sympathetic  role  influenced,  as  it  is,  by  the  impres- 
sions of  the  internal  or  external  nervous  organs  which  are  the 
true  determining  causes  of  these  animal  contractions. 

But  in  the  contraction  that  is  strictly  voluntary,  it  is  clearly 
in  a  single  centre  that  the  action  commences  which,  without 
being  provoked  or  compelled  by  any  foreign  impression,  is 
transmitted  directly  to  the  organs  of  movement  by  the  inter- 
mediary of  the  nerves.  We  find  here  the  only  true  sign  of  vol- 
untary effort,  such  as  we  have  characterised  it. 

As  the  voluntary  contraction  thus  differs  from  the  animal 
contraction,  so  likewise  the  will,  the  individual  and  free  power 
of  effort  and  movement,  differ  from  appetite,  need,  and  all  feel- 
ings of  discomfort,  of  disquietude,  etc.  which  have  been  arbi- 
trarily united  under  the  general  term  of  will.  Here  both  the  psy- 
chological and  physiological  points  of  view  perfectly  correspond. 
The  sympathetic  reaction  of  the  centre,  which  occasions  the 
animal  contractions  or  the  instinctive  movements,  is  the  sign  of 
afiective  desire  very  improperly  called  will.  The  action,  com- 
mencing in  a  single  centre,  which  occasions  the  voluntary 
movement  that  is  in  the  power  of  the  individual  to  make  or  not 
to  make,  is  the  proper  sign  of  an  impelKng  will.  The  general 
faculty  in  question  from  the  first  physiological  point  of  view,  is 
not  only  subordinated  to,  but  identical  with  the  sensibility  con- 
sidered as  the  principle  or  the  cause  which  determines  animal 
movement.  It  is,  therefore,  not  necessary  to  seek  any  other 
origin  for  it  than  that  of  life  itself  of  the  organised  being,  which 
feels  only  so  far  as  it  is  moved,  and  which  moves  only  as  far  as 
it  feels.  In  this  case,  it  is  conditionally  true  to  say  that  the  first 
of  all  movements  has  been  accompanied  by  desire  or  by  will, 
and  that  the  instinctive  determinations,  being  sensations  as  the 
others,  include  judgment,  desire,  etc.  The  individual  faculty 
which  is  in  question  in  the  second  point  of  view,  far  from  being 
subordinate  to  the  sensibility,  is  most  often  in  opposition  to  it; 
and  we  have  already  seen  that  it  has  its  peculiar  and  primor- 
dial laws,  outside  the  circle  of  all  affective  impressions. 

The  experience  of  the  inner  sense  suffices  to  assure  us  in  fact 


4S8    THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

that,  in  the  cases  in  which  movements  of  any  kind  are  com- 
pelled and  abruptly  incited  by  violent  appetites,  passions,  or 
too  emotional  excitations  of  the  sensibility,  we  ourselves  move, 
or  rather  our  body  moves  without  our  leave,  without,  or  even 
against  the  explicit  orders  of  the  will,  which  is  oppressed  and 
as  it  were  nullified,  by  the  very  fact  that  sensibility  predomin- 
ates or  rules  exclusively.  How  could  it  therefore  be  possible 
that  the  same  afi"ective  impressions,  which  destroy  the  control 
of  the  will,  and  absorb  or  hamper  that  power,  even  when  it  is 
already  fully  established,  would  originally  serve  to  develop 
it  and  to  set  it  in  exercise?  How  is  it  possible  to  suppose  that 
the  being,  which  begins  to  live,  can  perceive  or  feel  its  own 
movements,  and  begin  to  derive  therefrom  some  knowledge, 
when  we  ourselves  are  completely  ignorant  aUke  of  the  cause 
and  of  the  effect  of  those  movements,  in  the  midst  of  the  dis- 
turbance of  the  affections  which  provoke  or  even  prevail  over 
them?  How  finally  could  the  very  principle,  which  obscures 
and  so  often  extinguishes  in  us  the  light  of  consciousness,  have 
been  the  first  source  of  it? 

We  are,  therefore,  justified  in  saying  from  our  present  stand- 
point, that  the  first  movements,  which  are  determined  by  ap- 
petite or  organic  need,  or  even  accompanied  by  desire,  differ 
as  much  from  will  properly  so-called,  as  the  peculiar  and  direct 
action  exerted  from  a  single  centre  differs  from  all  sympathetic 
reactions.  Thus,  the  first  acts  of  this  nascent  will,  explained  in 
its  principles,  differ  from  the  blind  determinations  of  instinct, 
which  precedes  them  in  the  order  of  time,  but  without  serving 
them  in  their  origin.  There  is  then  occasion  to  seek  by  an 
explicit  analysis  of  primitive  facts,  what  is  the  order  of  progress 
or  of  conditions  which  may  have  produced  the  first  exercise  of 
the  individual  power  of  effort,  and  with  it  the  first  feeling  of  the 
self  ;  that  which  is  equivalent  to  asking  what  is  the  law,  eithei 
physiological  or  psychological,  of  the  transition  from  instinctive 
movements,  to  voluntary  and  free  movements,  accompanied 
by  effort. 

As  long  as  the  organic  centre,  to  which  physiologists  refer 
motor  determination,  only  reacts  in  consequence  of  the  impres- 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN  459 

sions  which  it  receives  from  diverse  sensitive  organs  with  which 
it  is  in  relation,  the  movements  thus  produced,  not  being  capa- 
ble of  being  perceived  or  felt  as  distinct  from  their  producing 
causes,  cannot  even  begin  to  be  voluntary.  For  if  distinct  per- 
ception is  not  anterior,  as  T  believe,  to  any  exercise  whatever  of 
the  will,  neither  can  this  latter  in  its  turn  precede  any  degree 
whatsoever  of  perception;  and  although  it  may  be  true  to  say, 
that  the  thinking  being  cannot  begin  to  know  save  in  so  far  as 
he  begins  to  act  and  to  will,  it  is  none  the  less  true,  in  the  ordin- 
ary phrase,  that  one  cannot  expressly  will  that  of  which  one 
has  no  knowledge. 

If  one  appears  to  revolve  here  in  a  vicious  circle,  the  reason 
is,  that  as  a  result  of  having  failed  to  recognize  the  truly  prim- 
itive fact,  one  wishes  to  distinguish  or  separate  two  acts  which 
are  reduced  to  one  in  this  fact,  and  that  one  already  applies  the 
law  of  succession,  or  like  the  Kantians,  the  complete  form  of 
time,  to  the  iSrst  term  of  every  succession,  at  the  origin  of  all 
time. 

Through  the  indeterminate  order  of  the  progress  of  being, 
simple  in  the  vital  stage,  but  destined  to  become  double  in  the 
human  stage,  ^  a  period  arrives  when  the  exclusive  rule  of  instinct 
tends  to  end  or  to  be  united  to  another  order  of  faculties.  Al- 
ready the  impressions  begin  to  become  less  vivid,  less  general, 
less  tumultuous;  habit  has  blunted  their  edge  which  was  at  first 
strongly  affective;  the  appetites  are  less  pressing,  the  move- 
ments less  brusque,  less  automatic;  the  organs  of  locomotion 
begin  to  harden,  their  special  irritabiUty  diminishes;  they  yield 
less  promptly  to  every  external  cause  of  contraction.  Thus,  on 
the  one  side,  these  organs  have  contracted  habits  in  repeated 
instinctive  locomotion,  and  they  are  disposed  in  such  way  to 
comply  with  more  facility  to  the  new  contractions  that  the  will 
is  to  impose  upon  them;  on  the  other  hand,  the  motor  centre 
has  also  acquired  in  reacting  such  determinations  that  it  is 
capable  of  entering  spontaneously  into  action,  by  virtue  of  that 
general  law  of  habit,  in  consequence  of  which  a  living  organ 

'  Homo  simplex  in  vitalilate,  duplex  in  humanilale,  says  Boerhaave  energet- 
ically, and  with  profound  truth. 


46o    THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

tends  to  renew  of  itself  the  impressions  or  the  movements 
that  a  foreign  cause  has  a  number  of  times  aroused  in  it,  or  in 
consequence  of  which  makes  it  own  the  dispositions  of  another 
organ  with  which  it  has  sympathetically  shared. 

When  the  centre  thus  accomplishes  movements  by  its  own 
and  initial  action,  the  latter  take  a  wholly  different  character, 
and  become  spontaneous^  instead  of  being  instinctive  as  they 
were  at  the  outset.  Now  this  spontaneity  is  still  not  the  will,  or 
the  power  of  effort,  but  it  immediately  precedes  it.  By  virtue 
of  the  spontaneity  of  action  of  the  centre,  which  is  the  imme- 
diate term  or  proper  instrument  of  the  hyperorganic  force  of  the 
soul,  that  force,  which  could  neither  perceive  nor  distinctly  feel 
the  instructive  movements,  begins  to  feel  the  spontaneous 
movements  which  no  emotion  troubles  or  disturbs.  But  it  can- 
not begin  to  feel  them  thus  as  produced  by  its  immediate  in- 
strument, without  appropriating  to  itself  their  power.  As  soon 
as  it  feels  that  power,  it  exerts  it  by  accomplishing  that  move- 
ment itself.  As  soon  as  it  effects  it,  it  perceives  its  effort  with 
the  resistance,  it  is  a  cause  for  itself,  and  in  relation  to  the 
effect  that  it  produces,  with  freedom,  it  is  the  self. 

Thus  personality  begins  with  the  first  complete  action  of  a 
hyperorganic  force  which  is  for  itself,  or  as  self,  only  in  so  far  as 
it  knows  itself,  and  which  begins  to  know  itself  only  in  so  far  as 
it  begins  to  act  with  freedom.  The  problem  is  not  to  know 
what  that  force  is  in  itself,  how  it  exists,  or  when  it  begins 
absolutely  to  exist,  but  when  it  begins  to  exist  as  an  identical 
person,  as  self.  Now  it  exists  for  itself  only  in  so  far  as  it  knows 
itself,  and  it  knows  itself  only  in  so  far  as  it  acts. 

Although  the  primitive  fact,  of  which  we  seek  to  determine 
the  source,  seems  to  escape,  in  that  source  itself,  from  every 
kind  of  experiment,  and  presents  itself  only  as  an  hypothesis, 
we  can  nevertheless  discover  some  examples  adapted  to  explain, 
up  to  a  certain  point,  the  origin  of  personality,  such  as  we  have 
just  established  it. 

I.  In  sleep  of  the  mind  or  of  the  self,  it  occurs  sometimes  that 
one  is  awakened  with  a  start  in  consequence  of  movements,  of 
words  or  of  voices,  produced  by  a  spontaneity  resembling  that 


MAINE  DE  BIRAN  461 

which  serves  originally  as  intermediary  between  instinct  and 
will.  At  the  very  instant  of  this  sudden  awakening,  the  indi- 
vidual feels  these  movements,  not  accompanied  with  effort  as 
they  are  in  the  state  of  waking,  but  with  a  feeling  of  power  to 
make  them,  which  is,  in  this  case,  the  memory  of  that  effort.  It 
is  in  this  way  that  he  appropriates  to  himself  in  their  result 
those  spontaneous  movements  that  he  has  not  determined  in 
their  principle,  and  that  conscious  appropriation  characterises 
solely  the  perfect  awakening.  Therefore,  in  the  origin  of  person- 
ality, spontaneous  movement  awakens  the  soul,  causes  to  arise 
in  it,  as  it  were,  the  presentiment  of  a  power  which  determines 
the  first  voluntary  effort,  and  with  it  the  first  knowledge. 

2.  In  the  newborn  infant,  and  even  during  a  certain  period 
after  birth,  the  locomotion  and  voice  are  set  in  action  only  by 
instinct.  The  infant  frets  and  cries  because  it  suffers,  and  in  so 
far  as  it  is  affected  by  simple  needs  or  appetites.  As  long  as 
this  purely  sensitive  state  continues,  will  and  apperception  can- 
not exist ;  for  how  can  you  suppose  that  the  first  cries  of  pain, 
the  first  automatic  movements,  are  acts  of  a  faculty  of  will  and 
of  judgment  already  in  exercise,  unless  you  admit  these  faculties 
as  innate  or  unconditioned?  Without  doubt  the  cries  of  an 
infant  have  a  significance  or  a  natural  sense,  but  that  is  for  an 
intelligent  being  capable  of  understanding  or  of  interpreting  it, 
and  not  for  the  infant  reduced  to  sensations  and  to  animal  con- 
tractions. But  apart  from  the  exclusive  domain  of  the  affec- 
tions, of  the  needs  or  appetites  of  instinct,  the  infant  still  cries 
and  frets  by  virtue  of  the  determinations  or  of  the  habits  con- 
tracted by  the  motor  centre  and  by  the  organs  of  movement  or 
of  the  voice.  These  movements  then  spontaneous  are  veritable 
sensations.  Soon  they  will  be  perceived,  willed  and  trans- 
formed by  the  infant  itself,  into  involuntary  signs  of  which  it  will 
make  use  in  order  to  call  for  aid.  Behold  the  first  stage  of  man, 
duplex  in  humanitate,  the  first  sign  of  nascent  personality.  The 
transition  sought  for  is  then  accomplished.  But  how  could  it 
have  been  possible,  if  the  movements  had  always  been  the  pro- 
ducts of  an  instinctive  and  sympathetic  reaction,  carried  away 
,and  repelled  by  vivid  emotions,  and  finally  if  there  had  not 


462    THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

been  an  intermediary  mode  of  motility  such,  that  sensation, 
distinct  from  the  movement  performed,  be  accompanied  by  a 
feeling  of  power,  and  gives  rise  consequently  to  the  exercise  of 
the  will?  Such  is  the  order  or  the  series  of  progress;  such 
is  the  transition  from  instinct  to  spontaneity,  and  from  that  to 
the  will,  which  constitutes  the  person,  the  self.  The  animal 
rapidly  passes  beyond  the  first  two  degrees;  man  alone  can 
attain  to  the  third,  but  he  attains  it  only  progressively,  accord- 
ing to  certain  laws  or  conditions,  that  philosophy  should  seek 
to  know  in  order  to  find  the  principles  and  origin  of  science.  If 
we  have  not  been  able  to  dispel  all  the  clouds  which  conceal 
that  origin,  we  have  at  least  shown  how,  and  in  what  sense,  it  is 
necessary  to  admit  an  assignable  origin  of  personality;  how  or 
by  what  procedure  of  analysis,  one  can  hope  to  find  it  identi- 
fied, not  with  the  first  sensation  of  a  passive  substance,  but  with 
the  first  action  of  a  hyperorganic  force. 


JAMES  MILL 

(1773-1836) 

ANALYSIS  OF  THE  PHENOMENA  OF  THE 
HUMAN   MIND* 

CHAPTER  III.   THE  ASSOCIATION  OF  IDEAS 

"To  have  a  clear  view  of  the  phenomena  of  the  mind,  as  mere  affections  or 
states  of  it,  existing  successively,  and  in  a  certain  series,  which  we  are  able,  there- 
fore, to  predict,  in  consequence  of  our  k  nowledge  of  the  past,  is,  I  conceive,  to  have 
made  the  most  important  acquisition  which  the  intellectual  inquirer  can  make." 

Brown,  Lectures,  i.  544. 

Thought  succeeds  thought;  idea  follows  idea,  incessantly. 
If  our  senses  are  awake,  we  are  continually  receiving  sensa- 
tions, of  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  touch,  and  so  forth ;  but  not  sensa- 
tions alone.  After  sensations,  ideas  are  perpetually  excited  of 
sensations  formerly  received ;  after  those  ideas,  other  ideas :  and 
during  the  whole  of  our  lives,  a  series  of  those  two  states  of  con- 
sciousness, called  sensations,  and  ideas,  is  constantly  going  on. 
I  see  a  horse:  that  is  a  sensation.  Immediately  I  think  of  his 
master:  that  is  an  idea.  The  idea  of  his  master  makes  me  think 
of  his  office;  he  is  a  minister  of  state:  that  is  another  idea.  The 
idea  of  a  minister  of  state  makes  me  think  of  public  affairs;  and 
I  am  led  into  a  train  of  political  ideas ;  when  I  am  summoned  to 
dinner.  This  is  a  new  sensation,  followed  by  the  idea  of  dinner, 
and  of  the  company  with  whom  I  am  to  partake  it.  The  sight 
of  the  company  and  of  the  food  are  other  sensations;  these  sug- 
gest ideas  without  end ;  other  sensations  perpetually  intervene, 
suggesting  other  ideas:  and  so  the  process  goes  on. 

In  contemplating  this  train  of  feelings,  of  which  our  lives 
consist,  it  first  of  all  strikes  the  contemplator,  as  of  importance 

*  London,  1829;  new  ed.,  with  notes  illustrative  and  critical  by  Alexander 
Bain,  Andrew  Findlater,  and  George  Grote,  edited  with  additional  notes  by  John 
Stuart  Mill,  ih.  1869,  vol.  i. 


464  JAMES  MILL 

to  ascertain,  whether  they  occur  casually  and  irregularly,  or 
according  to  a  certain  order. 

With  respect  to  the  sensations,  it  is  obvious  enough  that 
they  occur,  according  to  the  order  established  among  what  we 
call  the  objects  of  nature,  whatever  those  objects  are;  to  ascer- 
tain more  and  more  of  which  order  is  the  business  of  physical 
philosophy  in  all  its  branches. 

Of  the  order  established  among  the  objects  of  nature,  by 
which  we  mean  the  objects  of  our  senses,  two  remarkable  cases 
are  all  which  here  we  are  called  upon  to  notice;  the  synchron- 
ous ORDER  and  the  successive  order.  The  synchronous  order, 
or  order  of  simultaneous  existence,  is  the  order  in  space;  the 
successive  order,  or  order  of  antecedent  and  consequent  exist- 
ence, is  the  order  in  time.  Thus  the  various  objects  in  my 
room,  the  chairs,  the  tables,  the  books,  have  the  synchronous 
order,  or  order  in  space.  The  falling  of  the  spark,  and  the  ex- 
plosion of  the  gunpowder,  have  the  successive  order,  or  order 
in  time. 

According  to  this  order,  in  the  objects  of  sense,  there  is  a 
synchronous,  and  a  successive,  order  of  our  sensations.  I  have 
SYNCHRONiCALLY,  or  at  the  same  instant,  the  sight  of  a  great 
variety  of  objects;  touch  of  all  the  objects  with  which  my  body 
is  in  contact;  hearing  of  all  the  sounds  which  are  reaching  my 
ears;  smelling  of  all  the  smells  which  are  reaching  my  nostrils; 
taste  of  the  apple  which  I  am  eating;  the  sensation  of  resistance 
both  from  the  apple  which  is  in  my  mouth,  and  the  ground  on 
which  I  stand;  with  the  sensation  of  motion  from  the  act  of 
walking.  I  have  successively  the  sight  of  the  flash  from  the 
mortar  fired  at  a  distance,  the  hearing  of  the  report,  the  sight 
of  the  bomb,  and  of  its  motion  in  the  air,  the  sight  of  its  fall,  the 
sight  and  hearing  of  its  explosion,  and  lastly,  the  sight  of  all  the 
effects  of  that  explosion. 

Among  the  objects  which  I  have  thus  observed  synchron- 
ically,  or  successively;  that  is,  from  which  I  have  had  synchron- 
ical  or  successive  sensations;  there  are  some  which  I  have  so 
observed  frequently;  others  which  I  have  so  observed  not  fre- 
quently: in  other  words,  of  my  sensations  some  have  been  fre- 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    465 

quently  synchronical,  others  not  frequently;  some  frequently 
successive,  others  not  frequently.  Thus,  my  sight  of  roast  beef, 
and  my  taste  of  roast  beef,  have  been  frequently  synchronical; 
my  smell  of  a  rose,  and  my  sight  and  touch  of  a  rose,  have  been 
frequently  synchronical;  my  sight  of  a  stone,  and  my  sensa- 
tions of  its  hardness,  and  weight,  have  been  frequently  syn- 
chronical. Others  of  my  sensations  have  not  been  frequently 
synchronical:  my  sight  of  a  lion,  and  the  hearing  of  his  roar; 
my  sight  of  a  knife,  and  its  stabbing  a  man.  My  sight  of  the 
flash  of  lightning,  and  my  hearing  of  the  thunder,  have  been 
often  successive;  the  pain  of  cold,  and  the  pleasure  of  heat, 
have  been  often  successive;  the  sight  of  a  trumpet,  and  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet,  have  been  often  successive.  On  the  other 
hand,  my  sight  of  hemlock,  and  my  taste  of  hemlock,  have  not 
been  often  successive:  and  so  on. 

It  so  happens,  that,  of  the  objects  from  which  we  derive  the 
greatest  part  of  our  sensations,  most  of  those  which  are  ob- 
served synchronically,  are  frequently  observed  synchronically; 
most  of  those  which  are  observed  successively,  are  frequently 
observed  successively.  In  other  words,  most  of  our  synchron- 
ical sensations,  have  been  frequently  synchronical;  most  of  our 
successive  sensations,  have  been  frequently  successive.  Thus, 
most  of  our  synchronical  sensations  are  derived  from  the  objects 
around  us,  the  objects  which  we  have  the  most  frequent  occa- 
sion to  hear  and  see;  the  members  of  our  family;  the  furniture 
of  our  houses ;  our  food ;  the  instruments  of  our  occupations  or 
amusements.  In  like  manner,  of  those  sensations  which  we 
have  had  in  succession,  we  have  had  the  greatest  number 
repeatedly  in  succession;  the  sight  of  fire,  and  its  warmth;  the 
touch  of  snow,  and  its  cold;  the  sight  of  food,  and  its  taste. 

Thus  much  with  regard  to  the  order  of  sensations;  next 
with  regard  to  the  order  of  ideas. 

As  ideas  are  not  derived  from  objects,  we  should  not  expect 
their  order  to  be  derived  from  the  order  of  objects;  but  as  they 
are  derived  from  sensations,  we  might  by  analogy  expect,  that 
they  would  derive  their  order  from  that  of  the  sensations;  and 
this  to  a  great  extent  is  the  case. 


466  JAMES  MILL 

Our  ideas  spring  up,  or  exist,  in  the  order  in  which  the  sensa- 
tions existed,  of  which  they  are  the  copies. 

This  is  the  general  law  of  the  "Association  of  Ideas";  by 
which  term,  let  it  be  remembered,  nothing  is  here  meant  to  be 
expressed,  but  the  order  of  occurrence. 

In  this  law,  the  following  things  are  to  be  carefully  observed. 

1.  Of  those  sensations  which  occurred  synchronically,  the 
ideas  also  spring  up  synchronically.  I  have  seen  a  violin,  and 
heard  the  tones  of  the  violin,  synchronically.  If  I  think  of  the 
tones  of  the  violin,  the  visible  appearance  of  the  vioUn  at  the 
same  time  occurs  to  me.  I  have  seen  the  sun,  and  the  sky  in 
which  it  is  placed,  synchronically.  If  I  think  of  the  one,  I  think 
of  the  other  at  the  same  time. 

One  of  the  cases  of  synchronical  sensation,  which  deserves 
the  most  particular  attention,  is,  that  of  the  several  sensations 
derived  from  one  and  the  same  object;  a  stone,  for  example, 
a  flower,  a  table,  a  chair,  a  horse,  a  man. 

From  a  stone  I  have  had,  synchronically,  the  sensation  of 
colour,  the  sensation  of  hardness,  the  sensations  of  shape,  and 
size,  the  sensation  of  weight.  When  the  idea  of  one  of  these 
sensations  occurs,  the  ideas  of  all  of  them  occur.  They  exist  in 
my  mind  synchronically;  and  their  synchronical  existence  is 
called  the  idea  of  the  stone;  which,  it  is  thus  plain,  is  not  a  single 
idea,  but  a  number  of  ideas  in  a  particular  state  of  combina- 
tion. 

Thus,  again,  I  have  smelt  a  rose,  and  looked  at,  and  handled 
a  rose,  synchronically;  accordingly  the  name  rose  suggests  to 
me  all  those  ideas  synchronically ;  and  this  combination  of  those 
simple  ideas  is  called  my  idea  of  the  rose. 

My  idea  of  an  animal  is  still  more  complex.  The  word  thrush, 
for  example,  not  only  suggests  an  idea  of  a  particular  colour  and 
shape,  and  size,  but  of  song,  and  flight,  and  nestling,  and  eggs, 
and  callow  young,  and  others. 

My  idea  of  a  man  is  the  most  complex  of  all;  including  not 
only  colour,  and  shape,  and  voice,  but  the  whole  class  of  events 
in  which  I  have  observed  him  either  the  agent  or  the  patient. 

2.  As  the  ideas  of  the  sensations  which  occurred  synchron- 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    467 

ically,  rise  synchronically,  so  the  ideas  of  the  sensations  which 
occurred  successively,  rise  successively. 

Of  this  important  case  of  association,  or  of  the  successive 
order  of  our  ideas,  many  remarkable  instances  might  be  ad- 
duced. Of  these  none  seems  better  adapted  to  the  learner  than 
the  repetition  of  any  passage,  or  words;  the  Lord's  Prayer,  for 
example,  committed  to  memory.  In  learning  the  passage,  we 
repeat  it;  that  is,  we  pronounce  the  words,  in  successive  order, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  The  order  of  the  sensations  is 
successive.  When  we  proceed  to  repeat  the  passage,  the  ideas 
of  the  words  also  rise  in  succession,  the  preceding  always  sug- 
gesting the  succeeding,  and  no  other.  Our  suggests  Father, 
Father  suggests  which,  which  suggests  art;  and  so  on,  to  the  end. 
How  remarkably  this  is  the  case,  any  one  may  convince  him- 
self, by  trying  to  repeat  backwards,  even  a  passage  with  which 
he  is  as  familiar  as  the  Lord's  Prayer.  The  case  is  the  same 
with  numbers.  A  man  can  go  on  with  the  numbers  in  the  pro- 
gressive order,  one,  two,  three,  &c.  scarcely  thinking  of  his  act; 
and  though  it  is  possible  for  him  to  repeat  them  backward,  be- 
cause he  is  accustomed  to  subtraction  of  numbers,  he  cannot  do 
so  without  an  effort. 

Of  witnesses  in  courts  of  justice  it  has  been  remarked,  that 
eye-witnesses,  and  ear-witnesses,  always  tell  their  story  in  the 
chronological  order ;  in  other  words,  the  ideas  occur  to  them  in 
the  order  in  which  the  sensations  occurred;  on  the  other  hand, 
that  witnesses,  who  are  inventing,  rarely  adhere  to  the  chrono- 
lo.gical  order. 

3.  A  far  greater  number  of  our  sensations  are  received  in  the 
successive,  than  in  the  synchronical  order.  Of  our  ideas,  also, 
the  number  is  infinitely  greater  that  rise  in  the  successive  than 
the  synchronical  order. 

4.  In  the  successive  order  of  ideas,  that  which  precedes,  is 
sometimes  called  the  suggesting,  that  which  succeeds,  the  sug- 
gested idea ;  not  that  any  power  is  supposed  to  reside  in  the  ante- 
cedent over  the  consequent;  suggesting,  and  suggested,  mean 
only  antecedent  and  consequent,  with  the  additional  idea,  that 
such  order  is  not  casual,  but,  to  a  certain  degree,  permanent. 


468  JAMES  MILL 

5.  Of  the  antecedent  and  consequent  feelings,  or  the  suggest- 
ing, and  suggested;  the  antecedent  may  be  either  sensations  or 
ideas;  the  consequent  are  always  ideas.  An  idea  may  be  excited 
either  by  a  sensation  or  an  idea.  The  sight  of  the  dog  of  my 
friend  is  a  sensation,  and  it  excites  the  idea  of  my  friend.  The 
idea  of  Professor  Dugald  Stewart  delivering  a  lecture,  recalls 
the  idea  of  the  delight  with  which  I  heard  him ;  that,  the  idea 
of  the  studies  in  which  it  engaged  me;  that,  the  trains  of  thought 
which  succeeded;  and  each  epoch  of  my  mental  history,  the 
succeeding  one,  till  the  present  moment;  in  which  I  am  en- 
deavouring to  present  to  others  what  appears  to  me  valuable 
among  the  innumerable  ideas  of  which  this  lengthened  train 
has  been  composed. 

6.  As  there  are  degrees  in  sensations,  and  degrees  in  ideas;  for 
one  sensation  is  more  vivid  than  another  sensation,  one  idea 
more  vivid  than  another  idea;  so  there  are  degrees  in  associa- 
tion. One  association,  we  say,  is  stronger  than  another:  First, 
when  it  is  more  permanent  than  another:  Secondly,  when  it  is 
performed  with  more  certainty:  Thirdly,  when  it  is  performed 
with  more  facility. 

It  is  well  known,  that  some  associations  are  very  transient, 
others  very  permanent.  The  case  which  we  formerly  men- 
tioned, that  of  repeating  words  committed  to  memory,  affords 
an  apt  illustration.  In  some  cases,  we  can  perform  the  repeti- 
tion, when  a  few  hours,  or  a  few  days  have  elapsed;  but  not 
after  a  longer  period.  In  others,  we  can  perform  it  after  the 
lapse  of  many  years.  There  are  few  children  in  whose  minds 
some  association  has  not  been  formed  between  darkness  and 
ghosts.  In  some  this  association  is  soon  dissolved;  in  some  it 
continues  for  life. 

In  some  cases  the  association  takes  place  with  less,  in  some 
with  greater  certainty.  Thus,  in  repeating  words,  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  shall  not  commit  mistakes,  if  they  are  imperfectly 
got;  and  I  may  at  one  trial  repeat  them  right,  at  another 
wrong:  I  am  sure  of  always  repeating  those  correctly,  which  I 
have  got  perfectly.  Thus,  in  my  native  language,  the  associa- 
tion between  the  name  and  the  thing  is  certain;  in  a  language 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    469 

with  which  I  am  imperfectly  acquainted,  not  certain.  In  ex- 
pressing myself  in  my  own  language,  the  idea  of  the  thing  sug- 
gests the  idea  of  the  name  with  certainty.  In  speaking  a  lan- 
guage with  which  I  am  imperfectly  acquainted,  the  idea  of  the 
thing  does  not  with  certainty  suggest  the  idea  of  the  name;  at 
one  time  it  may,  at  another  not. 

That  ideas  are  associated  in  some  cases  with  more,  in  some 
with  less  facihty,  is  strikingly  illustrated  by  the  same  instance, 
of  a  language  with  which  we  are  well,  and  a  language  with 
which  we  are  imperfectly,  acquainted.  In  speaking  our  own 
language,  we  are  not  conscious  of  any  effort;  the  associations 
between  the  words  and  the  ideas  appear  spontaneous.  In 
endeavouring  to  speak  a  language  with  which  we  are  im- 
perfectly acquainted,  we  are  sensible  of  a  painful  effort:  the 
associations  between  the  words  and  ideas  being  not  ready,  or 
immediate. 

7.  The  causes  of  strength  in  association  seem  all  to  be  re- 
solvable into  two;  the  vividness  of  the  associated  feehngs;  and 
the  frequency  of  the  association. 

In  general,  we  convey  not  a  very  precise  meaning,  when  we 
speak  of  the  vividness  of  sensations  and  ideas.  We  may  be 
understood  when  we  say  that,  generally  speaking,  the  sensation 
is  more  vivid  than  the  idea ;  or  the  primary,  than  the  secondary 
feeling;  though  in  dreams,  and  in  delirium,  ideas  are  mistaken 
for  sensations.  But  when  we  say  that  one  sensation  is  more 
vivid  than  another,  there  is  much  more  uncertainty.  We  can 
distinguish  those  sensations  which  are  pleasurable,  and  those 
which  are  painful,  from  such  as  are  not  so;  and  when  we  call  the 
pleasurable  and  painful  more  vivid,  than  those  which  are  not 
so,  we  speak  intelligibly.  We  can  also  distinguish  degrees  of 
pleasure,  and  of  pain;  and  when  we  call  the  sensation  of  the 
higher  degree  more  vivid  than  the  sensation  of  the  lower 
degree,  we  may  again  be  considered  as  expressing  a  meaning 
tolerably  precise. 

In  calling  one  idea  more  vivid  than  another,  if  we  confine  the 
appellation  to  the  ideas  of  such  sensations  as  may  with  preci- 
sion be  called  more  or  less  vivid;  the  sensations  of  pleasure  and 


470  JAMES  MILL 

pain,  in  their  various  degrees,  compared  with  sensations  which 
we  do  not  call  either  pleasurable  or  painful ;  our  language  will 
still  have  a  certain  degree  of  precision.  But  what  is  the  meaning 
which  I  annex  to  my  words,  when  I  say,  that  my  idea  of  the 
taste  of  the  pine-apple  which  I  tasted  yesterday  is  vivid;  my 
idea  of  the  taste  of  the  foreign  fruit  which  I  never  tasted  but 
once  in  early  life,  is  not  vivid?  If  I  mean  that  I  can  more  cer- 
tainly distinguish  the  more  recent,  than  the  more  distant  sensa- 
tion, there  is  still  some  precision  in  my  language;  because  it 
seems  true  of  all  my  senses,  that  if  I  compare  a  distant  sensa- 
tion with  the  present,  I  am  less  sure  of  its  being  or  not  being  a 
repetition  of  the  same,  than  if  I  compare  a  recent  sensation 
with  a  present  one.  Thus,  if  I  yesterday  had  a  smell  of  a  very 
peculiar  kind,  and  compare  it  with  a  present  smell,  I  can  judge 
more  accurately  of  the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  the  two 
sensations,  than  if  I  compared  the  present  with  one  much  more 
remote.  The  same  is  the  case  with  colours,  with  sounds,  with 
feelings  of  touch,  and  of  resistance.  It  is  therefore  sufhciently 
certain,  that  the  idea  of  the  more  recent  sensation  affords  the 
means  of  a  more  accurate  comparison,  generally,  than  the  idea 
of  the  more  remote  sensation.  And  thus  we  have  three  cases 
of  vividness,  of  which  we  can  speak  with  some  precision:  the 
case  of  sensations,  as  compared  with  ideas ;  the  case  of  pleas- 
urable and  painful  sensations,  and  their  ideas  as  compared 
V  *th  those  which  are  not  pleasurable  or  painful;  and  the  case  of 
the  more  recent,  compared  with  the  more  remote. 

That  the  association  of  two  ideas,  but  for  once,  does,  in  some 
cases,  give  them  a  very  strong  connection,  is  within  the  sphere 
of  every  man's  experience.  The  most  remarkable  cases  are 
probably  those  of  pain  and  pleasure.  Some  persons  who  have 
experienced  a  very  painful  surgical  operation,  can  never  after- 
wards bear  the  sight  of  the  operator,  however  strong  the  grati- 
tude which  they  may  actually  feel  towards  him.  The  meaning 
is,  that  the  sight  of  the  operator,  by  a  strong  association,  calls 
up  so  vividly  the  idea  of  the  pain  of  the  operation,  that  it  is 
itself  a  pain.  The  spot  on  which  a  tender  maiden  parted  with 
her  lover,  when  he  embarked  on  the  voyage  from  which  he 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    471 

never  returned,  cannot  afterwards  be  seen  by  her  without  an 
agony  of  grief. 

These  cases,  also,  furnish  an  apt  illustration  of  the  superior- 
ity which  the  sensation  possesses  over  the  idea,  as  an  associating 
cause.  Though  the  sight  of  the  surgeon,  the  sight  of  the  place, 
would  awaken  the  ideas  which  we  have  described,  the  mere 
thought  of  them  might  be  attended  with  no  peculiar  effect. 
Those  persons  who  have  the  association  of  frightful  objects  with 
darkness,  and  who  are  transported  with  terrors  when  placed  in 
the  dark,  can  still  think  of  darkness  without  any  emotion. 

The  same  cases  furnish  an  illustration  of  the  effect  of  recency 
on  the  strength  of  association.  The  sight,  of  the  affecting  spot 
by  the  maiden,  of  the  surgeon  by  the  patient,  would  certainly 
produce  a  more  intense  emotion,  after  a  short,  than  after  a  long 
interval.  With  most  persons,  time  would  weaken,  and  at  last 
dissolve,  the  association. 

So  much  with  regard  to  vividness,  as  a  cause  of  strong  asso- 
ciations. Next,  we  have  to  consider  frequency  or  repetition; 
which  is  the  most  remarkable  and  important  cause  of  the 
strength  of  our  associations. 

Of  any  two  sensations,  frequently  perceived  together,  the 
ideas  are  associated.  Thus,  at  least,  in  the  minds  of  English- 
men, the  idea  of  a  soldier,  and  the  idea  of  a  red  coat  are  asso- 
ciated ;  the  idea  of  a  clergyman,  and  the  idea  of  a  black  coat;  the 
idea  of  a  quaker,  and  of  a  broad-brimmed  hat;  the  idea  of  a 
woman  and  the  idea  of  petticoats.  A  peculiar  taste  suggests 
the  idea  of  an  apple;  a  peculiar  smell  the  idea  of  a  rose.  If  I 
have  heard  a  particular  air  frequently  sung  by  a  particular  per- 
son, the  hearing  of  the  air  suggests  the  idea  of  the  person. 

The  most  remarkable  exemplification  of  the  effect  of  degrees 
of  frequency,  in  producing  degrees  of  strength  in  the  associa- 
tions, is  to  be  found  in  the  cases  in  which  the  association  is  pur- 
posely and  studiously  contracted;  the  cases  in  which  we  learn 
something;  the  use  of  words,  for  example. 

Every  child  learns  the  language  which  is  spoken  by  those 
around  him.  He  also  learns  it  by  degrees.  He  learns  first  the 
names  of  the  most  familiar  objects;  and  among  famihar  objects, 


472  JAMES  MILL 

the  names  of  those  which  he  most  frequently  has  occasion  to 
name;  himself,  his  nurse,  his  food,  his  playthings. 

A  sound  heard  once  in  conjunction  with  another  sensation; 
the  word  mamma,  for  example,  with  the  sight  of  a  woman, 
would  produce  no  greater  effect  on  the  child,  than  the  conjunc- 
tion of  any  other  sensation,  which  once  exists  and  is  gone  for- 
ever. But  if  the  word  mamma  is  frequently  pronounced,  in 
conjunction  with  the  sight  of  a  particular  woman,  the  sound 
will  by  degrees  become  associated  with  the  sight;  and  as  the 
pronouncing  of  the  name  will  call  up  the  idea  of  the  woman,  so 
the  sight  of  the  woman  will  call  up  the  idea  of  the  name. 

The  process  becomes  very  perceptible  to  us,  when,  at  years 
of  reflection,  we  proceed  to  learn  a  dead  or  foreign  language.  At 
the  first  lesson,  we  are  told,  or  we  see  in  the  dictionary,  the 
meaning  of  perhaps  twenty  words.  But  it  is  not  joining  the 
word  and  its  meaning  once,  that  will  make  the  word  suggest  its 
meaning  to  us  another  time.  We  repeat  the  two  in  conjunction, 
till  we  think  the  meaning  so  well  associated  with  the  word, 
that  whenever  the  word  occurs  to  us,  the  meaning  will  occur 
along  with  it.  We  are  often  deceived  in  this  anticipation;  and 
finding  that  the  meaning  is  not  suggested  by  the  word,  we  have 
to  renew  the  process  of  repetition,  and  this,  perhaps,  again,  and 
again.  By  force  of  repetition  the  meaning  is  associated,  at 
last,  with  every  word  of  the  language,  and  so  perfectly,  that 
the  one  never  occurs  to  us  without  the  other. 

Learning  to  play  on  a  musical  instrument  is  another  remark- 
able illustration  of  the  effect  of  repetition  in  strengthening 
associations,  in  rendering  those  sequences,  which,  at  first,  are 
slow,  and  diflficult,  afterwards,  rapid,  and  easy.  At  first,  the 
learner,  after  thinking  of  each  successive  note,  as  it  stands  in 
his  book,  has  each  time  to  look  out  with  care  for  the  key  or  the 
string  which  he  is  to  touch,  and  the  finger  he  is  to  touch  it  with, 
and  is  every  moment  committing  mistakes.  Repetition  is  well 
known  to  be  the  only  means  of  overcoming  these  difficulties. 
As  the  repetition  goes  on,  the  sight  of  the  note,  or  even  the  idea 
of  the  note,  becomes  associated  with  the  place  of  the  key  or  the 
string;  and  that  of  the  key  or  the  string  with  the  proper  finger. 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    473 

The  association  for  a  time  is  imperfect,  but  at  last  becomes  so 
strong,  that  it  is  performed  with  the  greatest  rapidity,  without 
an  effort,  and  almost  without  consciousness. 

In  few  cases  is  the  strength  of  association,  derived  from  repe- 
tition, more  worthy  of  attention,  than  in  performing  arithme- 
tic. All  men,  whose  practice  is  not  great,  find  the  addition  of  a 
long  column  of  numbers,  tedious,  and  the  accuracy  of  the  oper- 
ation, by  no  means  certain.  Till  a  man  has  had  considerable 
practice,  there  are  few  acts  of  the  mind  more  toilsome.  The 
reason  is,  that  the  names  of  the  numbers,  which  correspond  to 
the  different  steps,  do  not  readily  occur;  that  is,  are  not 
strongly  associated  with  the  names  which  precede  them.  Thus, 
7  added  to  5,  make  12 ;  but  the  antecedent,  7  added  to  5,  is  not 
strongly  associated  with  the  consequent  12,  in  the  mind  of  the 
learner,  and  he  has  to  wait  and  search  till  the  name  occurs. 
Thus,  again,  12  and  7  make  19;  19  and  8  make  27,  and  so  on  to 
any  amount;  but  if  the  practice  of  the  performer  has  been  small, 
the  association  in  each  instance  is  imperfect,  and  the  process 
irksome  and  slow.  Practice,  however;  that  is,  frequency  of 
repetition ;  makes  the  association  between  each  of  these  antece- 
dents and  its  proper  consequent  so  perfect,  that  no  sooner  is  the 
one  conceived  than  the  other  is  conceived,  and  an  expert  arith- 
metician can  tell  the  amount  of  a  long  column  of  figures,  with  a 
rapidity,  which  seems  almost  miraculous  to  the  man  whose 
faculty  of  numeration  is  of  the  ordinary  standard. 

8.  Where  two  or  more  ideas  have  been  often  repeated  to- 
gether, and  the  association  has  become  very  strong,  they 
sometimes  spring  up  in  such  close  combination  as  not  to  be 
distinguishable.  Some  cases  of  sensation  are  analogous.  For 
example;  when  a  wheel,  on  the  seven  parts  of  which  the  seven 
prismatic  colours  are  respectively  painted,  is  made  to  revolve 
rapidly,  it  appears  not  of  seven  colours,  but  of  one  uniform 
colour,  white.  By  the  rapidity  of  the  succession,  the  several 
sensations  cease  to  be  distinguishable;  they  run,  as  it  were, 
together,  and  a  new  sensation,  compounded  of  all  the  seven, 
but  apparently  a  simple  one,  is  the  result.  Ideas,  also,  which 
have  been  so  often  conjoined,  that  whenever  one  exists  in  the 


474  JAMES  MILL 

mind,  the  others  immediately  exist  along  with  it,  seem  to  run 
into  one  another,  to  coalesce,  as  it  were,  and  out  of  many  to 
form  one  idea;  which  idea,  however  in  reality  complex,  appears 
to  be  no  less  simple,  than  any  one  of  those  of  which  it  is  com- 
pounded. 

The  word  gold,  for  example,  or  the  word  iron,  appears  to 
express  as  simple  an  idea,  as  the  word  colour,  or  the  word 
sound.  Yet  it  is  immediately  seen,  that  the  idea  of  each  of  those 
metals  is  made  up  of  the  separate  ideas  of  several  sensations; 
colour,  hardness,  extension,  weight.  Those  ideas,  however, 
present  themselves  in  such  intimate  union,  that  they  are  con- 
stantly spoken  of  as  one,  not  many.  We  say,  our  idea  of  iron, 
our  idea  of  gold;  and  it  is  only  with  an  effort  that  reflecting 
men  perform  the  decomposition. 

The  idea  expressed  by  the  term  weight,  appears  so  perfectly 
simple,  that  he  is  a  good  metaphysician,  who  can  trace  its  com- 
position. Yet  it  involves,  of  course,  the  idea  of  resistance, 
which  we  have  shewn  above  to  be  compounded,  and  to  involve 
the  feeling  attendant  upon  the  contraction  of  muscles ;  and  the 
feeling,  or  feelings,  denominated  Will ;  it  involves  the  idea,  not 
of  resistance  simply,  but  of  resistance  in  a  particular  direction ; 
the  idea  of  direction,  therefore,  is  included  in  it,  and  in  that  are 
involved  the  ideas  of  extension,  and  of  place  and  motion,  some 
of  the  most  complicated  phenomena  of  the  human  mind. 

The  ideas  of  hardness  and  extension  have  been  so  uniformly 
regarded  as  simple,  that  the  greatest  metaphysicians  have  set 
them  down  as  the  copies  of  simple  sensations  of  touch.  Hartley 
and  Darwin,  were,  I  believe,  the  first  who  thought  of  assigning 
to  them  a  different  origin. 

We  call  a  thing  hard,  because  it  resists  compression,  or  sepa- 
ration of  parts;  that  is,  because  to  compress  it,  or  separate  it 
into  parts,  what  we  call  muscular  force  is  required.  The  idea, 
then,  of  muscular  action,  and  of  all  the  feelings  which  go  to  it, 
are  involved  in  the  idea  of  hardness. 

The  idea  of  extension  is  derived  from  the  muscular  feelings  in 
what  we  call  the  motion  of  parts  of  our  own  bodies;  as  for  exam- 
ple, the  hands.  I  move  my  hand  along  a  line;  I  have  certain 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    475 

sensations;  on  account  of  these  sensations,  I  call  the  line  long, 
or  extended.  The  idea  of  lines  in  the  direction  of  length,  breadth, 
and  thickness,  constitutes  the  general  idea  of  extension.  In  the 
idea  of  extension,  there  are  included  three  of  the  most  complex 
of  our  ideas;  motion;  time,  which  is  included  in  motion;  and 
space,  which  is  included  in  direction.  We  are  not  yet  prepared 
to  explain  the  simple  ideas  which  compose  the  very  complex 
ideas,  of  motion,  space,  and  time;  it  is  enough  at  present  to 
have  shewn,  that  in  the  idea  of  extension,  which  appears  so  very 
simple,  a  great  number  of  ideas  are  nevertheless  included;  and 
that  this  is  a  case  of  that  combination  of  ideas  in  the  higher 
degrees  of  association,  in  which  the  simple  ideas  are  so  inti- 
mately blended,  as  to  have  the  appearance,  not  of  a  complex, 
but  of  a  simple  idea. 

It  is  to  this  great  law  of  association,  that  we  trace  the  forma- 
tion of  our  ideas  of  what  we  call  external  objects;  that  is,  the 
ideas  of  a  certain  number  of  sensations,  received  together  so 
frequently  that  they  coalesce  as  it.  were,  and  are  spoken  of 
under  the  idea  of  unity.  Hence,  what  we  call  the  idea  of  a  tree, 
the  idea  of  a  stone,  the  idea  of  a  horse,  the  idea  of  a  man. 

In  using  the  names,  tree,  horse,  man,  the  names  of  what  I 
call  objects,  I  am  referring,  and  can  be  referring,  only  to  my 
own  sensations;  in  fact,  therefore,  only  naming  a  certain  num- 
ber of  sensations,  regarded  as  in  a  particular  state  of  combina- 
tion; that  is,  concomitance.  Particular  sensations  of  sight,  of 
touch,  of  the  muscles,  are  the  sensations,  to  the  ideas  of  which, 
colour,  extension,  roughness,  hardness,  smoothness,  taste, 
smell,  so  coalescing  as  to  appear  one  idea,  I  give  the  name,  idea 
of  a  tree. 

To  this  case  of  high  association,  this  blending  together  of 
many  ideas,  in  so  close  a  combination  that  they  appear  not 
many  ideas,  but  one  idea,  we  owe,  as  I  shall  afterwards  more 
fully  explain,  the  power  of  classification,  and  all  the  advan- 
tages of  language.  It  is  obviously,  therefore,  of  the  greatest 
moment,  that  this  important  phenomenon  should  be  well 
understood. 

9.  Some  ideas  are  by  frequency  and  strength  of  association 


476  JAMES  MILL 

so  closely  combined,  that  they  cannot  be  separated.  If  one 
exists,  the  others  exist  along  with  it,  in  spite  of  whatever  effort 
we  make  to  disjoin  them. 

For  example;  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  think  of  colour,  with- 
out thinking  of  extension;  or  of  solidity,  without  figure.  We 
have  seen  colour  constantly  in  combination  with  extension, 
spread  as  it  were,  upon  a  surface.  We  have  never  seen  it  except 
in  this  connection.  Colour  and  extension  have  been  invariably 
conjoined.  The  idea  of  colour,  therefore,  uniformly  comes  into 
the  mind,  bringing  that  of  extension  along  with  it;  and  so 
close  is  the  association,  that  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  dissolve 
it.  We  cannot,  if  we  will,  think  of  colour,  but  in  combination 
with  extension.  The  one  idea  calls  up  the  other,  and  retains 
it,  so  long  as  the  other  is  retained.  • 

This  great  law  of  our  nature  is  illustrated  in  a  manner 
equally  striking,  by  the  connection  between  the  ideas  of  solidity 
and  figure.  We  never  have  the  sensations  from  which  the  idea 
of  solidity  is  derived,  but  in  conjunction  with  the  sensations 
whence  the  idea  of  figure  is  derived.  If  we  handle  anything 
solid,  it  is  always  either  round,  square,  or  of  some  other  form. 
The  ideas  correspond  with  the  sensations.  If  the  idea  of  solidity 
rises,  that  of  figure  rises  along  with  it.  The  idea  of  figure  which 
rises,  is,  of  course,  more  obscure  than  that  of  extension;  be- 
cause, figures  being  innumerable,  the  general  idea  is  exceed- 
ingly complex,  and  hence,  of  necessity,  obscure.  But,  such  as  it 
is,  the  idea  of  figure  is  always  present  when  that  of  solidity  is 
present;  nor  can  we,  by  any  effort,  think  of  the  one  without 
thinking  of  the  other  at  the  same  time. 

Of  all  the  cases  of  this  important  law  of  association,  there  is 
none  more  extraordinary  than  what  some  philosophers  have 
called,  the  acquired  perceptions  of  sight. 

When  I  lift  my  eyes  from  the  paper  on  which  I  am  writing, 
I  see  the  chairs,  and  tables,  and  walls  of  my  room,  each  of  its 
proper  shape,  and  at  its  proper  distance.  I  see,  from  my  win- 
dow, trees,  and  meadows,  and  horses,  and  oxen,  and  distant 
hills.  I  see  each  of  its  proper  size,  of  its  prop>er  form,  and  at  its 
proper  distance;  and  these  particulars  appear  as  immediate 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    477 

informations  of  the  eye,  as  the  colours  which  I  see  by  means  of 
it. 

Yet,  philosophy  has  ascertained,  that  we  derive  nothing  from 
the  eye  whatever,  but  sensations  of  colour;  that  the  idea  of 
extension,  in  which  size,  and  form,  and  distance  are  included,  is 
derived  from  sensations,  not  in  the  eye,  but  in  the  muscular 
part  of  our  frame.  How,  then,  is  it,  that  we  receive  accurate 
information,  by  the  eye,  of  size,  and  shape,  and  distance?  By 
association  merely. 

The  colours  upon  a  body  are  different,  according  to  its  figure, 
its  distance,  and  its  size.  But  the  sensations  of  colour,  and  what 
we  may  here,  for  brevity,  call  the  sensations  of  extension,  of 
figure,  of  distance,  have  been  so  often  united,  felt  in  conjunc- 
tion, that  the  sensation  of  the  colour  is  never  experienced  with- 
out raising  the  ideas  of  the  extension,  the  figure,  the  distance, 
in  such  intimate  union  with  it,  that  they  not  only  cannot  be 
separated,  but  are  actually  supposed  to  be  seen.  The  sight,  as 
it  is  called,  of  figure,  or  distance,  appearing,  as  it  does,  a  simple 
sensation,  is  in  reality  a  complex  state  of  consciousness;  a 
sequence,  in  which  the  antecedent,  a  sensation  of  colour,  and 
the  consequent,  a  number  of  ideas,  are  so  closely  combined  by 
association,  that  they  appear  not  one  idea,  but  one  sensation. 

Some  persons,  by  the  folly  of  those  about  them,  in  early  life, 
have  formed  associations  between  the  sound  of  thunder,  and 
danger  to  their  lives.  They  are  accordingly  in  a  state  of  agita- 
tion during  a  thunder  storm.  The  sound  of  the  thunder  calls  up 
the  idea  of  danger,  and  no  effort  they  can  make,  no  reasoning 
they  can  use  with  themselves,  to  show  how  small  the  chance 
that  they  will  be  harmed,  empowers  them  to  dissolve  the  spell, 
to  break  the  association,  and  deliver  themselves  from  the  tor- 
menting idea,  while  the  sensation  or  the  expectation  of  it 
remains. 

Another  very  familiar  illustration  may  be  adduced.  Some 
persons  have  what  is  called  an  antipathy  to  a  spider,  a  toad,  or 
a  rat.  These  feelings  generally  originate  in  some  early  fright. 
The  idea  of  danger  has  been  on  some  occasion  so  intensely 
excited  along  with  the  touch  or  sight  of  the  animal,  and  hence 


478  JAMES  MILL 

the  association  so  strongly  formed,  that  it  cannot  be  dissolved. 
The  sensation,  in  spite  of  them,  excites  the  idea,  and  produces 
the  uneasiness  which  the  idea  imports. 

The  following  of  one  idea  after  another  idea,  or  after  a  sensa- 
tion, so  certainly  that  we  cannot  prevent  the  combination,  nor 
avoid  having  the  consequent  feeling  as  often  as  we  have  the 
antecedent,  is  a  law  of  association,  the  operation  of  which  we 
shall  afterwards  find  to  be  extensive,  and  bearing  a  principal 
part  in  some  of  the  most  important  phenomena  of  the  human 
mind. 

As  there  are  some  ideas  so  intimately  blended  by  association, 
that  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  separate  them ;  there  seem  to  be 
others,  which  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  combine.  Dr.  Brown,  in 
exposing  some  errors  of  his  predecessors,  with  respect  to  the 
acquired  perceptions  of  sight,  observes:  "I  cannot  blend  my 
notions  of  the  two  surfaces,  a  plane,  and  a  convex,  as  one  sur- 
face, both  plane  and  convex,  more  than  I  can  think  of  a  whole 
which  is  less  than  a  fraction  of  itself,  or  a  square  of  which  the 
sides  are  not  equal."  The  case,  here,  appears  to  be,  that  a 
strong  association  excludes  whatever  is  opposite  to  it.  I  cannot 
associate  the  two  ideas  of  assafcetida,  and  the  taste  of  sugar. 
Why?  Because  the  idea  of  assafcetida  is  so  strongly  associated 
with  the  idea  of  another  taste,  that  the  idea  of  that  other 
taste  rises  in  combination  with  the  idea  of  assafcetida,  and  of 
course  the  idea  of  sugar  does  not  rise.  I  have  one  idea  associ- 
ated with  the  word  pain.  Why  can  I  not  associate  pleasure 
with  thie  word  pain?  Because  another  indissoluble  association 
springs  up,  and  excludes  it.  This  is,  therefore,  only  a  case  of 
indissoluble  association;  but  one  of  much  importance,  as  we 
shall  find  when  we  come  to  the  exposition  of  some  of  the  more 
complicated  of  our  mental  phenomena. 

lo.  It  not  unfrequently  happens  in  our  associated  feelings, 
that  the  antecedent  is  of  no  importance  farther  than  it  intro- 
duces the  consequent.  In  these  cases,  the  consequent  absorbs 
all  the  attention,  and  the  antecedent  is  instantly  forgotten.  Of 
this  a  very  intelligible  illustration  is  afforded  by  what  happens 
in  ordinary  discourse.  A  friend  arrives  from  a  distant  country, 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    479 

and  brings  me  the  first  intelligence  of  the  last  illness,  the  last 
words,  the  last  acts,  and  death  of  my  son.  The  sound  of  the 
voice,  the  articulation  of  every  word,  makes  its  sensation  in  my 
ear;  but  it  is  to  the  ideas  that  my  attention  flies.  It  is  my  son 
that  is  before  me,  suffering,  acting,  speaking,  dying.  The 
words  which  have  introduced  the  ideas,  and  kindled  the  affec- 
tions, have  been  as  little  heeded,  as  the  respiration  which  has 
been  accelerated,  while  the  ideas  were  received. 

It  is  important  in  respect  to  this  case  of  association  to 
remark,  that  there  are  large  classes  of  our  sensations,  such  as 
many  of  those  in  the  alimentary  duct,  and  many  in  the  nervous 
and  vascular  systems,  which  serve,  as  antecedents,  to  introduce 
ideas,  as  consequents;  but  as  the  consequents  are  far  more 
interesting  than  themselves,  and  immediately  absorb  the  atten- 
tion, the  antecedents  are  habitually  overlooked;  and  though 
they  exercise,  by  the  trains  which  they  introduce,  a  great  influ- 
ence on  our  happiness  or  misery,  they  themselves  are  generally 
wholly  unknown. 

That  there  are  connections  between  our  ideas  and  certain 
states  of  the  internal  organs,  is  proved  by  many  familiar  in- 
stances. Thus,  anxiety,  in  most  people,  disorders  the  digestion. 
It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  the  internal  feelings  which  accom- 
pany indigestion,  should  excite  the  ideas  which  prevail  in  a 
state  of  anxiety.  Fear,  in  most  people,  accelerates,  in  a  remark- 
able manner,  the  vermicular  motion  of  the  intestines.  There  is 
an  association,  therefore,  between  certain  states  of  the  intes- 
tines, and  terrible  ideas;  and  this  is  sufficiently  confirmed  by 
the  horrible  dreams  to  which  men  are  subject  from  indigestion ; 
and  the  hypochondria,  more  or  less  afflicting,  which  almost 
always  accompanies  certain  morbid  states  of  the  digestive 
organs.  The  grateful  food  which  excites  pleasurable  sensations 
in  the  mouth,  continues  them  in  the  stomach;  and,  as  pleasures 
excite  ideas  of  their  causes,  and  these  of  similar  causes,  and 
causes  excite  ideas  of  their  effects,  and  so  on,  trains  of  pleas- 
urable ideas  take  their  origin  from  pleasurable  sensations  in 
the  stomach.  Uneasy  sensations  in  the  stomach,  produce 
analogous  effects.   Disagreeable  sensations  are  associated  with 


48o  JAMES  MILL 

« 

disagreeable  circumstances;  a  train  is  introduced,  in  which,  one 
painful  idea  following  another,  combinations,  to  the  last  degree 
afflictive,  are  sometimes  introduced,  and  the  sufiferer  is  alto- 
gether overwhelmed  by  dismal  associations. 

In  illustration  of  the  fact,  that  sensations  and  ideas,  which 
are  essential  to  some  of  the  most  important  operations  of  our 
minds,  serve  only  as  antecedents  to  more  important  conse- 
quents, and  are  themselves  so  habitually  overlooked,  that  their 
existence  is  unknown,  we  may  recur  to  the  remarkable  case 
which  we  have  just  explained,  of  the  ideas  introduced  by  the 
sensations  of  sight.  The  minute  gradations  of  colour,  which 
accompany  varieties  of  extension,  figure,  and  distance,  are 
insignificant.  The  figure,  the  size,  the  distance,  themselves,  on 
the  other  hand,  are  matters  of  the  greatest  importance.  The 
first  having  introduced  the  last,  their  work  is  done.  The  conse- 
quents remain  the  sole  objects  of  attention,  the  antecedents  are 
forgotten;  in  the  present  instance,  not  completely;  in  other 
instances,  so  completely,  that  they  cannot  be  recognized. 

II.  Mr.  Hume,  and  after  him  other  philosophers,  have  said 
that  our  ideas  are  associated  according  to  three  principles; 
Contiguity  in  time  and  place,  Causation,  and  Resemblance. 
The  Contiguity  in  time  and  place,  must  mean,  that  of  the  sen- 
sations; and  so  far  it  is  affirmed,  that  the  order  of  the  ideas  fol- 
lows that  of  the  sensations.  Contiguity  of  two  sensations  in 
time,  means  the  successive  order.  Contiguity  of  two  sensations 
in  place,  means  the  synchronous  order.  We  have  explained  the 
mode  in  which  ideas  are  associated,  in  the  synchronous,  as  well 
as  the  successive  order,  and  have  traced  the  principle  of  con- 
tiguity to  its  proper  source. 

Causation,  the  second  of  Mr.  Hume's  principles,  is  the  same 
with  contiguity  in  time,  or  the  order  of  succession.  Causation 
is  only  a  name  for  the  order  established  between  an  antecedent 
and  a  consequent;  that  is,  the  established  or  constant  antece- 
dence of  the  one,  and  consequence  of  the  other.  Resemblance 
only  remains,  as  an  alleged  principle  of  association,  and  it  is 
necessary  to  inquire  whether  it  is  included  in  the  laws  which 
have  been  above  expounded.  I  believe  it  will  be  found  that  we 


PHENOMENA  OF  THE  HUMAN  MIND    481 

are  accustomed  to  see  like  things  together.  When  we  see  a  tree, 
we  generally  see  more  trees  than  one;  when  we  see  an  ox,  we 
generally  see  more  oxen  than  one;  a  sheep,  more  sheep  than 
one;  a  man,  more  men  than  one.  From  this  observation,  I 
think,  we  may  refer  resemblance  to  the  law  of  frequency,  of 
which  it  seems  to  form  only  a  particular  case. 

Mr.  Hume  makes  contrast  a  principle  of  association,  but  not 
a  separate  one,  as  he  thinks  it  is  compounded  of  Resemblance 
and  Causation.  It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  show  that  this  is  an 
unsatisfactory  account  of  contrast.  It  is  only  necessary  to 
observe,  that,  as  a  case  of  association,  it  is  not  distinct  from 
those  which  we  have  above  explained. 

A  dwarf  suggests  the  idea  of  a  giant.  How?  We  call  a  dwarf 
a  dwarf,  because  he  departs  from  a  certain  standard.  We  call  a 
giant  a  giant,  because  he  departs  from  the  same  standard.  This 
is  a  case,  therefore,  of  resemblance,  that  is,  of  frequency. 

Pain  is  said  to  make  us  think  of  pleasure;  and  this  is  con- 
sidered a  case  of  association  by  contrast.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  pain  makes  us  think  of  relief  from  it;  because  they  have 
been  conjoined,  and  the  great  vividness  of  the  sensations  makes 
the  association  strong.  Relief  from  pain  is  a  species  of  pleasure ; 
and  one  pleasure  leads  to  think  of  another,  from  the  resem- 
blance. This  is  a  comp'ound  case,  therefore,  of  vividness  and 
frequency.  All  other  cases  of  contrast,  I  believe,  may  be  ex- 
pounded in  a  similar  manner. 

I  have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  be  tedious  in  expounding 
the  observations  which  I  have  thus  stated;  for  whether  the 
reader  supposes  that  resemblance  is,  or  is  not,  an  original  prin- 
ciple of  association,  will  not  affect  our  future  investigations. 

12.  Not  only  do  simple  ideas,  by  strong  association,  run 
together,  and  form  complex  ideas:  but  a  complex  idea,  when 
the  simple  ideas  which  compose  it  have  become  so  consoHdated 
that  it  always  appears  as  one,  is  capable  of  entering  into  com- 
binations with  other  ideas,  both  simple  and  complex.  Thus  two 
complex  ideas  may  be  united  together,  by  a  strong  association, 
and  coalesce  into  one,  in  the  same  manner  as  two  or  more  sim- 
ple ideas  coalesce  into  one.  This  union  of  two  complex  ideas 


482  JAMES  MILL 

into  one,  Dr.  Hartley  has  called  a  duplex  idea.  Two  also  of 
these  duplex,  or  doubly  compounded  ideas,  may  unite  into 
one;  and  these  again  into  other  compounds,  without  end.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  mention,  that  as  two  complex  ideas  unite  to 
form  a  duplex  one,  not  only  two,  but  more  than  two  may  so 
unite;  and  what  he  calls  a  duplex  idea  may  be  compounded  of 
two,  three,  four,  or  any  number  of  complex  ideas. 

Some  of  the  most  familiar  objects  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted furnish  instances  of  these  unions  of  complex  and 
duplex  ideas. 

Brick  is  one  complex  idea,  mortar  is  another  complex  idea; 
these  ideas,  with  ideas  of  position  and  quantity,  compose  my 
idea  of  a  wall.  My  idea  of  a  plank  is  a  complex  idea,  my  idea  of 
a  rafter  is  a  complex  idea,  my  idea  of  a  nail  is  a  complex  idea. 

These,  united  with  the  same  ideas  of  position  and  quantity, 
compose  my  duplex  idea  of  a  floor.  In  the  same  manner  my 
complex  idea  of  glass,  and  wood,  and  others,  compose  my 
duplex  idea  of  a  window;  and  these  duplex  ideas,  united  to- 
gether, compose  my  idea  of  a  house,  which  is  made  up  of  vari- 
ous duplex  ideas.  How  many  complex,  or  duplex  ideas,  are  all 
united  in  the  idea  of  furniture?  How  many  more  in  the  idea  of 
merchandise?  Now  many  more  in  the  idea  called  Every 
Thing? 


ALEXANDER  BAIN 

(i  8 1 8-1 903) 

THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT* 

THE  INTELLECT 

We  now  proceed  to  view  the  Intellect,  or  the  thinking  func- 
tion of  the  mind.  The  various  faculties  known  as  Memory, 
Judgment,  Abstraction,  Reason,  Imagination,  —  are  modes  or 
varieties  of  Intellect.  Although  we  can  hardly  ever  exert  this 
portion  of  our  mental  system  in  separation  from  the  other  ele- 
ments of  mind  —  Feeling  and  Volition,  yet  scientific  method 
requires  it  to  be  described  apart. 

The  primary,  or  fundamental  attributes  of  Thought,  or  In- 
telligence, have  been  already  stated  to  be.  Consciousness  of 
Difference,  Consciousness  of  Agreement,  and  Retenliveness.  The 
exposition  of  the  Intellect  will  consist  in  tracing  out  the  work- 
ings of  these  several  attributes;  the  previous  book  containing 
the  enumeration  of  all  that  we  at  first  have  to  discriminate, 
identify,  and  retain. 

(i.)  The  first  and  most  fundamental  property  is  the  Con- 
sciousness of  Difference,  or  Discrimination.  To  be  distinc- 
tively affected  by  two  or  more  successive  impressions  is  the 
most  general  fact  of  consciousness.  We  are  never  conscious  at 
all  without  experiencing  transition  or  change.  (This  has  been 
called  the  Law  of  Relativity.)  When  the  mental  outburst  is 
characterized  mainly  by  pleasure  or  pain,  we  are  said  to  be 
under  a  state  of  feeling.  When  the  prominent  circumstance  is 
discrimination  of  the  two  distinct  modes  of  the  transition,  we 
are  occupied  intellectually.  There  are  many  transitions  that 
give  Httle  or  no  feeling  in  the  sense  of  pleasure  or  pain,  and  that 
are  attended  to  as  transitions,  in  other  words,  as  Differences. 

*  London,  1855;  4th  ed.,  1894. 


484  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

In  states  of  enjoyment  or  suffering,  we  cannot  be  strictly  devoid 
of  the  consciousness  of  difference;  but  we  abstain  from  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  discriminating  (and  the  identifying)  function,  and 
follow  out  the  consequences  of  a  state  of  feeling  as  such,  these 
being  to  husband  the  pleasure  and  abate  the  pain,  by  voluntary 
actions. 


(2.)  The  fundamental  property  of  Intellect,  named  Reten- 
TiVENESS,  has  two  aspects,  or  degrees. 

First.  The  persistence  or  continuance  of  mental  impressions, 
after  the  withdrawal  of  the  external  agent.  When  the  ear  is 
struck  by  a  sonorous  wave,  we  have  a  sensation  of  sound,  but 
the  mental  excitement  does  not  die  away  because  the  sound 
ceases;  there  is  a  certain  continuing  effect,  generally  much 
feebler,  but  varying  greatly  according  to  circumstances,  and  on 
some  occasions  quite  equal  to  the  effect  of  the  actual  sensation. 
In  consequence  of  this  property,  our  mental  excitement,  due 
to  external  causes,  may  greatly  outlast  the  causes  themselves ; 
we  are  enabled  to  go  on  living  a  life  in  ideas,  in  addition  to  the 
life  in  actualities. 

But  this  is  not  all.  We  have,  secondly,  the  power  of  recover- 
ing, or  reviving,  under  the  form  of  ideas,  past  or  extinct  sensa- 
tions and  feeling  of  all  kinds,  without  the  originals,  and  by 
mental  agencies  alone. 

After  the  impression  of  a  sound  has  ceased  entirely,  and  the 
mind  has  been  occupied  with  other  things,  there  is  a  possibility 
of  recovering  from  temporary  oblivion  the  idea,  or  mental 
effect,  without  reproducing  the  actual  sound.  We  remember, 
or  bring  back  to  mind,  sights,  and  sounds,  and  thoughts,  that 
have  not  been  experienced  for  months  or  years.  This  implies  a 
still  higher  mode  of  retentiveness  than  the  previous  fact;  it 
supposes  that  something  has  been  engrained  in  the  mental 
structure;  that  an  effect  has  been  produced  of  a  kind  that  suc- 
ceeding impressions  have  not  been  able  to  blot  out.  Now,  one 
medium  of  the  restoration  to  consciousness  of  a  particular  past 
state,  is  the  actual  presence  of  some  impression  that  had  often 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    485 

occurred  in  company  with  that  state.  Thus  we  are  reminded  of 
a  name  —  as  ship,  star,  tree  —  by  seeing  the  thing;  the  previous 
concurrence  of  name  and  thing  has  led  to  a  mental  companion- 
ship between  the  two.  Impressions  that  have  frequently  ac- 
companied one  another  in  the  mind  grow  together,  so  as  to 
become  at  last  almost  inseparable :  we  cannot  have  one  without 
a  disposition  or  prompting  to  renew  all  the  rest.  This  is  the 
highest  form  of  the  Retentive,  or  plastic,  property  of  the  mind. 
It  will  be  exemplified  at  length  under  the  title  of  Association  by 
Contiguity. 

(3.)  The  remaining  property  of  Intellect  is  consciousness  of 
Agreement.  Besides  the  consciousness  of  difference,  the  mind 
is  also  affected  by  agreement  rising  out  of  partial  difference. 
The  continuance  of  the  same  impression  produces  no  effect, 
but  after  experiencing  a  certain  impression  and  passing  away 
from  it  to  something  else,  the  recurrence  of  the  first  causes  a 
certain  shock  or  start,  —  the  shock  of  recognition;  which  is 
all  the  greater  according  as  the  circumstances  of  the  present 
and  of  the  past  occurrence  are  different.  Change  produces  one 
effect,  the  effect  called  discrimination ;  Similarity  in  the  midst 
of  change  produces  a  new  and  distinct  effect;  and  these  are  the 
two  modes  of  intellectual  stimulation,  the  two  constituents  of 
knowledge.  When  we  see  in  the  child  the  features  of  the  man, 
we  are  struck  by  agreement  in  the  midst  of  difference. 

This  power  of  recognition,  identification,  or  discovery  of 
likeness  in  unlikeness,  is  another  means  of  bringing  to  mind 
past  ideas;  and  is  spoken  of  as  the  Associating,  or  Reproductive 
principle  of  Similarity.  We  are  as  often  reminded  of  things  by 
their  resemblance  to  something  present,  as  by  their  previous 
proximity  to  what  is  now  in  the  view.  Contiguity  and  Similarity 
express  two  great  principles  or  forces  of  mental  reproduction; 
they  are  distinct  powers  of  the  mind,  varying  in  degree  among 
individuals  —  the  one  sometimes  preponderating,  and  some- 
times the  other.  The  first  governs  Acquisition,  the  second 
Invention. 

The  commonly  recognized  intellectual  faculties,  enumerated 
by  Psychologists  with  much  discrepancy,  in  so  far  as  they  do 


486  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

not  involve  Feeling  and  Volition,  are  resolvable  into  these 
three  primitive  properties  of  Intellect  —  Discrimination,  Re- 
tention, Similarity.  The  faculty  called  Memory  is  almost 
exclusively  founded  in  the  Retentive  power,  although  some- 
times aided  by  Similarity.  The  processes  of  Reason  and 
Abstraction  involve  Similarity  chiefly;  there  being  in  both  the 
identification  of  resembling  things.  What  is  termed  Judgment 
may  consist  in  Discrimination  on  the  one  hand,  or  in  the  Sense 
of  Agreement  on  the  other :  we  determine  two  or  more  things 
either  to  differ  or  to  agree.  It  is  impossible  to  find  any  case  of 
Judging  that  does  not,  in  the  last  resort,  mean  one  or  other  of 
these  two  essential  activities  of  the  intellect.  Lastly,  Imagina- 
tion is  a  product  of  all  the  three  fundamentals  of  our  intelli- 
gence, with  the  addition  of  an  element  of  Emotion. 


CHAPTER!.   RETENTIVENESS  —  LAW  OF 
CONTIGUITY 

I.  This  principle  is  the  basis  of  Memory,  Habit,  and  the 
Acquired  Powers  in  general.  Writers  on  Mental  Science  have 
described  it  under  various  names.  Sir  William  Hamilton  terms 
it  the  law  of  "Redintegration,"  regarding  it  as  the  principle 
whereby  one  part  of  a  whole  brings  up  the  other  parts,  as  when 
the  first  words  of  a  quotation  recall  the  remainder,  or  one  house 
in  a  street  suggests  the  succeeding  ones.  The  associating  Hnks 
called  Order  in  Time,  Order  in  Place,  and  Cause  and  Effect, 
are  all  included  under  it.  We  might  also  name  it  the  law  of 
Association  proper,  of  Adhesion,  Mental  Adhesiveness,  or  Ac- 
quisition. 

The  following  is  a  general  statement  of  this  mode  of  mental 
reproduction. 
Actions,  Sensations,  and  States  of  Feeling,  occurring  to- 
gether or  in  close  succession,  tend  to  grow  together,  or 
cohere,  in  such  a  way  that,  when  any  one  of  them  is  after- 
wards presented  to  the  mind,  the  others  are  apt  to  be 
brought  up  in  idea. 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    487 

There  are  various  circumstances  or  conditions  that  regulate 
and  modify  the  operation  of  this  principle,  so  as  to  render  the 
adhesive  growth  more  or  less  rapid  and  secure.  These  will  be 
best  brought  out  by  degrees  in  the  course  of  the  exposition.  As 
a  general  rule,  Repetition  is  necessary  in  order  to  render  co- 
herent in  the  mind  a  train  or  aggregate  of  images,  as,  for  exam- 
ple, the  successive  aspects  of  a  panorama,  with  a  sufficient 
degree  of  force  to  make  one  suggest  the  others  at  an  after  period. 
The  precise  degree  of  repetition  needed  depends  on  a  variety  of 
causes,  the  quality  of  the  individual  mind  being  one. 

4.  In  regard  to  the  conditions  that  regulate  the  pace  of  our 
various  acquisitions,  some  are  general,  others  are  special  to 
individual  kinds. 

The  general  conditions  are  these :  — 

I.  A  certain  amount  of  Continuance,  or  Repetition  of  the 
matter  to  be  learned,  is  requisite :  and  the  greater  the  continu- 
ance, or  the  more  frequent  the  repetition,  the  greater  the  pro- 
gress of  the  learner.  Deficiency  in  the  other  conditions  has  to 
be  made  up  by  a  protracted  iteration. 

II.  The  Concentration  of  the  mind  is  an  important  condi- 
tion. This  means  physically  that  the  forces  of  the  nevous  sys- 
tem are  strongly  engaged  upon  the  particular  act,  which  is  pos- 
sible only  by  keeping  the  attention  from  wandering  to  other 
things.  It  is  well  known  that  distraction  of  mind  is  a  bar  to 
acquirement. 

There  are  various  modes  of  attaining  the  desired  concentra- 
tion. It  is  a  voluntary  act,  prompted  by  present  and  by  future 
pleasures  and  pains. 

The  greatest  of  all  motives  to  concentration  is  a  present 
enjoyment  of  the  work  in  hand.  Any  exercise  possessing  a 
special  charm  detains  us  by  immediate  attraction ;  everything 
else  is  neglected  so  long  as  the  fascination  lasts.  This  is  the 
inherent  power  of  the  will  in  its  immediate  and  most  efficient 
manifestation  —  a  present  pleasure  furthering  a  present  action. 
It  explains  the  great  influence  of  what  is  called  the  Taste  for  a 
special  pursuit.  The  taste  or  fascination  for  music,  for  science, 
for  business,  —  keeps  the  mind  of  the  learner  exclusively  bent 


488  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

upon  the  subject;  and  the  pace  of  acquisition  is  proportionally 
rapid. 

Next  to  present  enjoyment,  is  associated,  or  future,  enjoy- 
ment; as  when  we  devote  ourselves  to  something  uninteresting 
or  painful  in  itself,  but  calculated  to  bring  future  gratification. 
This  is,  generally  speaking,  a  less  urgent  stimulation,  as  being 
the  influence  of  pleasure  existing  only  in  idea.  There  may, 
however,  be  all  degrees  of  intensity  of  the  motive,  according  to 
the  strength  of  the  ideal  representation  of  the  pleasure  to  come. 
It  is  on  this  stimulation,  that  we  go  through  the  dry  studies 
necessary  to  a  lucrative  profession  or  a  favourite  object  of 
pursuit.  The  young  are  insufficiently  actuated  by  prospective 
pleasure,  owing  to  their  inferior  ideal  hold  of  it ;  and  are  there- 
fore not  powerfully  moved  in  this  way. 

A  third  form  of  concentration  is  when  present  pain  is  made 
use  of  to  deter  and  withdraw  the  mind  from  causes  of  distrac- 
tion, or  matters  having  an  intrinsically  superior  charm.  This 
is  the  final  resort  in  securing  the  attention  of  the  volatile 
learner.  It  is  an  inferior  motive,  on  the  score  of  economy,  but 
cannot  be  dispensed  with  in  early  training.  By  an  artificial 
appliance,  the  subject  is  ma.de  comparatively  the  most  attractive. 
So  with  the  use  of  future  pains ;  the  same  allowance  being  made 
for  the  difference  in  their  character,  as  for  pleasures  existing 
only  in  prospect. 

Mere  Excitement,  whether  as  pleasure  or  as  pain,  or  as 
neither,  is  a  power  of  intellectual  concentration.  An  idea  that 
excites  us  very  much  persists  in  the  mind,  even  if  painful;  and 
the  remembrance  of  it  will  be  stamped  in  consequence.  This 
influence  will  be  especially  noticed,  a  few  pages  hence. 

It  is  not  uncommon,  in  stating  the  general  conditions  of  Reten- 
tiveness,  or  memory,  to  specify  the  vividness  or  intensity  of  an 
impression;  thus,  we  readily  remember  such  effects  as  an  intense 
odour,  a  speech  uttered  with  vehemence,  a  conflagration.  This, 
however,  resolves  itself  into  the  concentration  of  mental  and  nerv- 
ous force,  due  to  the  emotional  excitement.  Apart  from  the  feel- 
ings, an  idea  may  be  more  or  less  distinct  and  clear,  but  is  not 
properly  more  or  less  intense.  If  an  inscription  is  legible  with  ease, 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    489 

it  is  everything  that  the  intellect  demands;  the  adventitious  aid  of 
glaring  characters,  as  when,  at  a  public  illumination,  a  sentiment  is 
written  in  gas  jets,  is  a  species  of  excitement,  securing  an  inordinate 
amount  of  attention  or  concentration  of  mind. 

If  we  compare  an  object  sharply  defined  with  another  whose 
lineaments  are  faded  and  obscure,  there  is  a  wide  difference  in  the 
hold  that  the  two  would  severally  take  on  the  memory;  but  such 
impressions  differ  in  kind,  and  not  simply  in  degree.  The  names 
*  vivid'  and  'intense'  are  scarcely  applicable  except  by  a  figure. 
Without  a  decisive  difference  or  contrast,  the  mind  is  not  impressed 
at  all;  everything  that  favours  the  contrast  favours  discrimination, 
and  also  depth  of  impression.  All  this,  however,  is  pre-supposed, 
as  a  fact  or  property  of  the  Discriminating  function  of  intellect; 
and  is  not  to  be  repeated  as  appertaining  to  the  Retentive  function. 

III.  There  appears  to  be  specific  to  each  individual  a  certain 
degree  of  General  Retentiveness,  or  a  certain  aptitude  for 
acquirement  generally.  We  find  a  great  inequality  in  the 
progress  of  learners  placed  almost  exactly  in  the  same  circum- 
stances. Sometimes  the  difference  refers  only  to  single  depart- 
ments, as  mechanical  art,  music,  or  language;  it  is  then  refer- 
able to  special  and  local  endowments,  as  muscular  sensibility, 
the  musical  ear,  and  so  forth.  Often,  however,  the  superiority 
of  individuals  is  seen  in  acquirement  as  a  whole,  in  which  form 
it  is  better  regarded  as  a  General  power  of  Retentiveness. 

5.  We  shall  advert,  as  we  proceed,  to  the  modifying  circum- 
stances of  a  local  kind  peculiar  to  each  class  of  acquisitions. 
As  respects  the  present  class.  Movements,  the  special  condi- 
tions seem  to  be  as  follows :  — 

(i.)  Bodily  Strength,  or  mere  muscular  vigour,  must  be 
regarded  as  favouring  acquisition.  Not  only  is  it  an  indication 
of  a  large  share  of  vitality  in  the  muscles,  which  is  likely  to 
attend  their  acquired  aptitudes;  it  also  qualifies  for  enduring, 
without  fatigue,  a  great  amount  of  continuance  or  practice  of 
the  operations  required. 

(2.)  Distinct  from  mere  muscular  power  is  Spontaneity,  or 
the  active  temperament;  meaning  the  natural  proneness  to 
copious  muscular  activity.   This  must  be  regarded  as  a  pro- 


490  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

perty,  not  of  the  muscular  tissue,  but  of  the  nerve-centres  on 
the  active  side  of  the  brain.  Hence  there  is  a  likelihood,  if  not  a 
certainty,  that  the  endowment  is  accompanied  with  a  greater 
facility  in  the  association  of  movements.  Observation  accords 
with  the  view.  It  is  usually  men  of  abounding  natural  activity 
that  make  adroit  mechanics,  good  sportsmen,  and  able  com- 
batants. 

(3.)  Of  still  greater  importance  is  Muscular  Delicacy,  or 
Discrimination,  which  is  not  necessarily  involved  in  either  of 
the  foregoing  heads,  although  more  allied  to  the  second.  The 
power  of  discriminating  nice  shades  of  muscular  movement  is 
at  the  foundation  of  muscular  expertness  in  every  mode.  We 
have  abundant  proof  that,  wherever  delicacy  of  discrimination 
exists,  there  exists  also  a  special  retentiveness  of  that  class  of 
impressions.  The  physical  groundwork  of  the  property  is  the 
abundance  of  the  nerve  elements  —  fibres  and  corpuscles  —  out 
of  which  also  must  spring  the  capacity  for  varied  groupings  and 
fixed  associations. 

Physical  vigour  in  general,  and  those  modes  of  it  that  are  the 
counterparts  of  mental  vigour  in  particular,  must  be  reckoned 
among  the  conditions  of  Retentiveness.  Other  things  being  the 
same,  acquisition  is  most  rapid  in  health,  and  in  the  nourished  and 
fresh  condition  of  all  the  organs.  When  the  forces  of  the  system  run 
strongly  to  the  nervous  system  in  general,  there  is  a  natural  exuber- 
ance of  all  the  mental  manifestations;  and  energy  of  mind  is  then 
compatible  with  much  bodily  feebleness,  yet  not  with  any  circimi- 
stances  that  restrict  the  nourishment  of  the  brain. 


CHAPTER  11.  AGREEMENT  —  LA  W  OF  SIMILARITY 

Present  Actions,  Sensations,  Thoughts,  or  Emotions 
tend  to  revive  their  Like  among  previous  Impres- 
sions, or  States. 

I.  Contiguity  joins  together  things  that  occur  together,  or 
that  are,  by  any  circumstance,  presented  to  the  mind  at  the 
same  time;  as  when  we  associate  heat  with  light,  a  falling  body 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    491 

with  a  concussion.  But,  in  addition  to  this  link  of  reproductive 
connexion,  we  find  that  one  thing  will,  by  virtue  of  Similarity, 
recall  another  separated  from  it  in  time,  as  when  a  portrait  recalls 
the  original. 

The  second  fundamental  property  of  Intellect,  termed  Con- 
sciousness of  Agreement,  or  Similarity,  is  a  great  power  of 
mental  reproduction,  or  a  means  of  recovering  past  mental 
states.  It  was  noticed  by  Aristotle  as  one  of  the  links  in  the 
succession  of  our  thoughts. 

As  regards  our  knowledge,  or  perception,  of  things,  the  conscious- 
ness of  Agreement  is  second  only  to  Discrimination,  or  the  con- 
sciousness of  Difference.  When  we  know  a  thing,  we  do  so  by  its 
differences  and  its  agreements.  Our  full  knowledge  of  red,  is  our 
having  contrasted  it  with  all  other  colours,  and  our  having  compared 
it  with  itself  and  with  its  various  shades.  Our  knowledge  of  a  chair 
is  made  up  of  our  experiences  of  the  distinction  between  it  and  other 
articles  of  furniture,  &c.,  and  of  the  agreement  between  it  and  other 
chairs.  Both  modes  are  involved  in  a  complete  act  of  cognition,  and 
nothing  else  (except,  of  course,  the  Retentiveness  implied  in  the  one 
and  the  other)  is  necessary.  Our  knowledge  of  man  is  the  sum  of  the 
points  of  contrast  between  a  man  and  all  other  things,  and  the  sum 
of  the  points  of  identity  on  comparing  men  with  one  another.  Our 
increase  in  knowledge  is  constantly  proceeding  in  both  directions: 
we  note  new  differences,  and  also  new  agreements,  among  our 
experiences,  object  and  subject.  We  do  not  begin  to  be  conscious 
till  we  have  the  shock  of  difference;  and  we  cannot  make  that 
analysis  of  our  conscious  states,  called  the  recognition  of  plurality, 
combination,  or  complication,  till  we  discover  agreements,  and  refer 
each  part  of  the  impression  to  its  like  among  our  previous  impres- 
sions. To  perceive  is,  properly,  to  recognize,  or  identify. 

2.  Some  preliminary  explanation  of  the  kind  of  relationship 
subsisting  between  the  two  principles  of  Contiguity  and  Simi- 
larity, is  requisite  in  order  to  guard  against  mistakes,  and 
especially  to  prevent  misapprehension,  as  to  the  separate  exist- 
ence of  the  two  modes  of  action  in  the  mental  framework. 
When  the  cohesive  link  between  any  two  contiguous  actions, 
or  images,  is  confirmed  by  a  new  occurrence  or  repetition, 


492  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

obviously  the  present  impression  must  revive  the  sum  total  of 
the  past  impressions,  or  reinstate  the  whole  mental  condition 
left  on  the  occasion  immediately  preceding.  Thus,  if  I  am  dis- 
ciplining myself  in  the  act  of  drawing  a  round  figure  with  my 
hand  any  one  present  effort  must  recall  the  state  of  the  mus- 
cular and  nervous  action,  or  the  precise  bent  acquired  at  the  end 
of  the  previous  effort,  while  that  effort  had  to  reinstate  the  con- 
dition at  the  end  of  the  one  preceding,  and  so  on.  It  is  only  in 
this  way  that  repetition  can  be  of  any  avail  in  confirming  a 
physical  habit,  or  in  forming  an  intellectual  aggregate.  But 
this  reinstatement  of  a  former  condition  by  a  present  act  of  the 
same  kind,  is  really  and  truly  a  case  of  the  operation  of  the 
associating  principle  of  similarity,  or  of  h'ke  recalling  like;  and 
we  here  plainly  see,  that  without  such  recall,  the  adhesion  of 
contiguous  things  would  be  impossible.  Hence  it  would  appear, 
that  all  through  the  exposition  of  Contiguity,  the  principle  of 
Similarity  has  been  tacitly  assumed;  we  have  everywhere  taken 
for  granted,  that  a  present  occurrence  of  any  object  to  the  view 
recalls  the  total  impression  made  by  all  the  previous  occur- 
rences, and  adds  its  own  effect  to  that  total. 

But,  by  thus  tacitly  assuming  the  power  of  anything  present 
to  reinstate  the  past  impressions  of  the  same  thing,  we  restrict 
ourselves  to  those  cases  where  the  reinstatement  is  sure  and 
certain,  in  fact  to  cases  of  absolute  identity  of  the  present  and 
past.  Such  is  the  nature  of  the  instances  dwelt  upon  in  the  pre- 
vious chapter:  in  all  of  them,  the  new  movement,  or  the  new 
image,  was  supposed  precisely  identical  with  the  old,  and  went 
simply  to  reinstate  and  to  deepen  an  impression  already  made. 
We  must,  however,  now  pass  beyond  this  field  of  examples,  and 
enter  upon  a  new  class  where  the  identity  is  only  partial,  and  is 
on  that  account  liable  to  be  missed;  where  the  restoration, 
instead  of  being  sure,  is  doubtful;  and  where,  moreover,  the 
reinstatement  serves  higher  purposes  than  .the  mere  iteration 
and  deepening  of  the  impression  already  made.  In  all  mental 
restorations  whatsoever,  both  Contiguity  and  Similarity  are  at 
work;  in  one  class,  the  question  is  as  to  the  sufficiency  of  the 
contiguous  bond,  the  similarity  being  sure;  in  another  class,  the 


^     THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    493 

question  is  as  to  the  sufficiency  of  the  attractive  force  of  the 
likeness,  the  contiguous  adhesiveness  being  believed  certain. 
If  I  chance  to  meet  with  a  person  I  have  formerly  seen,  and 
endeavour  to  remember  his  name,  it  will  depend  upon  the 
goodness  of  a  cohesive  link  whether  or  not  I  succeed ;  there  will 
be  no  difficulty  in  my  recalling  the  past  impression  of  his  per- 
sonal appearance  through  the  force  of  the  present  impression ; 
but  having  recalled  the  full  total  of  the  past  impressions,  I  may 
not  be  able  to  recover  the  accompaniment  of  the  name ;  the  con- 
tiguity may  be  at  fault,  although  the  similarity  works  its  per- 
fect work  of  restoring  to  me  my  previous  conception  of  the  per- 
sonal aspect.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  I  see  a  man  on  the  street, 
and  if  I  have  formerly  seen  a  portrait  of  that  man,  it  is  a  ques- 
tion whether  the  living  reality  shall  recall  the  portrait;  the 
doubt  hangs  not  upon  the  contiguity,  or  coherence  of  the  parts 
and  surroundings  of  the  picture,  if  it  could  be  recovered,  but 
upon  the  chance  of  its  being  recovered.  Where  things  are 
identical,  the  operation  of  similarity,  in  making  the  present 
case  revive  the  former  ones,  is  so  certain  that  it  is  not  even 
mentioned ;  we  talk  of  the  goodness  of  the  cohesive  bond  be- 
tween the  revived  part  and  its  accompaniments,  as  if  contigu- 
ity expressed  the  whole  fact  of  the  restoration.  To  make  up  for 
this  partiality  of  view,  which  was  indispensable  to  a  clear  expo- 
sition, we  now  embrace,  with  the  like  partial  and  prominent 
consideration,  the  element  that  was  left  in  a  latent  condition; 
and  allow  to  sink,  into  the  latent  state,  the  one  that  has 
hitherto  been  made  exclusively  prominent. 

3.  In  the  perfect  identity  between  a  present  and  a  past 
impression,  the  past  is  recovered  and  fused  with  the  present, 
instantaneously  and  surely.  So  quick  and  unfaltering  is  the 
process  that  we  lose  sight  of  it  altogether;  we  are  scarcely  made 
aware  of  the  existence  of  an  associating  link  of  similarity  in  the 
chain  of  sequence.  When  I  look  at  the  full  moon,  I  am  in- 
stantly impressed  with  the  state  arising  from  all  my  former 
impressions  of  her  disc  added  together;  so  natural  and  neces- 
sary does  this  restoration  seem,  that  we  rarely  reflect  on  the 
principle  implied  in  it,  namely,  the  power  of  the  new  stimulus 


494  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

to  set  on  the  nervous  currents,  with  all  the  energy  acquired  in 
the  course  of  many  hundred  repetitions  of  the  same  visual  im- 
petus. But  when  we  pass  from  perfect  to  imperfect  or  partial 
identity,  we  are  more  readily  made  aware  of  the  existence  of 
this  link  of  attraction  between  similars,  for  we  find  that  some- 
times the  restoration  does  not  take  place;  cases  occur  where  we 
fail  to  be  struck  with  a  similitude;  the  spark  does  not  pass  be- 
tween the  new  currents  and  the  old  dormant  ones.  The  failure 
in  reinstating  the  old  condition  by  virtue  of  the  present  stimu- 
lus, is,  in  the  main,  ascribable  to  imperfect  identity.  When,  in 
some  new  impression  of  a  thing,  the  original  form  is  muffled,  ob- 
scured, distorted,  disguised,  or  in  any  way  altered,  it  is  a  chance 
whether  or  not  we  identify  it;  the  amount  of  likeness  that 
remains  will  have  a  reviving  power,  or  a  certain  amount  of  rein- 
stating energy,  but  the  points  of  difference  or  unlikeness  will 
operate  to  resist  the  supervention  of  the  old  state,  and  will  tend 
to  revive  objects  Uke  themselves.  If  I  hear  a  musical  air  that  I 
have  been  accustomed  to,  the  new  impression  revives  the  old  as 
a  matter  of  course;  but  if  the  air  is  played  with  complex  har- 
monies and  accompaniments,  it  is  possible  that  the  effect  of 
these  additions  may  be  to  check  my  recognition  of  the  piece; 
the  unlike  circumstances  may  repel  the  reinstatement  of  the 
old  experience  more  powerfully  than  the  remaining  likeness 
attracts  it;  and  I  may  find  in  it  no  identity  whatever  with  an 
air  previously  known,  or  even  identify  it  with  something  alto- 
gether different.  If  my  hold  of  the  essential  character  of  the 
melody  is  but  feeble,  and  if  I  am  stunned  and  confounded  with 
the  new  accompaniments,  there  is  every  likelihood  that  I  shall 
not  experience  the  restoration  of  my  past  hearing  of  the  air 
intended,  and  consequently  I  shall  not  identify  the  perform- 
ance. 

4.  The  obstructives  to  the  revival  of  the  past  through  simili- 
tude, may  be  classed  under  the  two  heads  —  Faintness  and 
Diversity.  There  are  instances  where  a  new  impression  is  too 
feehle  to  strike  into  the  old-established  track  of  the  same  impres- 
sion, and  to  make  it  alive  again;  as  when  we  are  unable  to  iden- 
tify the  taste  of  a  very  weak  solution,  or  to  discern  an  object  in 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    495 

twilight  dimness.  The  most  numerous  and  interesting  cases 
come,  however,  under  the  other  head  —  Diversity,  or  mingled 
likeness  and  unlikeness;  as  when  we  meet  an  old  acquaintance 
in  a  new  dress,  or  in  circumstances  where  we  have  never  seen 
the  same  person  before.  The  modes  of  diversity  are  countless, 
and  incapable  of  being  classified.  We  might,  indeed,  include 
under  diversity  the  other  of  the  two  heads,  seeing  that  faintness 
implies  diversity  of  degree,  if  not  of  any  other  circumstance;  but 
I  prefer  considering  the  obstruction  arising  from  faintness  by 
itself,  after  which  we  shall  proceed  to  the  larger  field  of  exam- 
ples marked  by  unHkeness  in  other  respects. 

5,  The  difficulty  or  facility  in  resuming  a  past  mental  condi- 
tion, at  the  suggestion  of  a  present  similitude,  will  plainly  de- 
pend upon  the  hold  that  the  past  impression  has  acquired ;  it  is 
much  easier  to  revive  a  familiar  image  than  an  unfamiliar,  by 
the  force  of  a  new  presentation.  We  shall,  therefore,  have  to 
keep  this  circumstance  in  view,  among  others,  in  the  course  of 
our  illustration  of  the  law  of  Similarity. 

It  has  to  be  considered  how  far  natural  character  —  that  is, 
a  primitive  endowment  of  the  intellect,  enters  into  the  power 
of  reviving  similars,  or  of  bringing  together  like  things  in  spite 
of  the  repulsion  of  unlike  accompaniments.  There  is  much  to 
be  explained  in  the  preferences  shown  by  different  minds,  in  the 
objects  that  they  most  readily  recall  to  the  present  view;  which 
preferences  determine  varieties  of  character,  such  as  the  scien- 
tific and  the  artistic  minds.  The  explanation  of  these  differ- 
ences was  carried  up  to  a  certain  point  under  the  Law  of  Con- 
tiguity; but,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  there  is  still  a  portion 
referable  to  the  existence  of  various  modes  and  degrees  of  sus- 
ceptibility to  the  force  of  Similarity.  From  all  that  I  have  been 
able  to  observe,  the  two  energies  of  contiguous  adhesion,  and  of 
attraction  of  similars,  do  not  rise  and  fall  together  in  the  char- 
acter; we  may  have  one  feeble  and  the  other  strong,  in  all  pro- 
portions and  degrees  of  adjustment.  I  believe,  moreover,  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  an  energetic  power  of  recognizing  simi- 
larity in  general,  and  that  this  is  productive  of  remarkable  con- 
sequences. Whether  I  shall  be  able  to  impress  these  convictions 


496  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

upon  my  readers,  will  depend  upon  the  success  of  the  detailed 
exposition  of  this  noted  peculiarity  of  our  intellectual  nature. 


CHAPTER  III.    COMPOUND  ASSOCIATION 

I.  Hitherto  we  have  restricted  our  attention  to  single 
threads  or  indivisible  links  of  association,  whether  of  Contig- 
uity or  Similarity.  It  remains  for  us  to  consider  the  case  where 
several  threads,  or  a  Plurality  of  links  or  bonds  of  connexion, 
unite  in  reviving  some  previous  thought  or  mental  state.  No 
new  principle  is  introduced  here;  we  have  merely  to  note,  what 
seems  an  almost  unavoidable  effect  of  the  combined  action,  that 
the  reinstatement  is  thereby  made  more  easy  and  certain.  As- 
sociations that  are  individually  too  weak,  to  operate  the  revival 
of  a  past  idea,  may  succeed  by  acting  together;  and  there  is 
thus  opened  up  to  our  view  a  means  of  aiding  our  recollection, 
or  invention,  when  the  one  thread  in  hand  is  too  feeble  to  effect 
a  desired  recall.  It  happens  in  fact,  that,  in  a  very  large  num- 
ber of  our  mental  transitions,  there  is  present  a  multiple  bond 
of  association. 

The  combinations  may  be  made  up  of  Contiguities  alone, 
of  Similarities  alone,  or  of  Contiguity  and  Similarity  mixed. 
Moreover,  we  shall  find  that  in  Emotion  and  in  Volition  there 
are  influences  either  assisting  or  obstructing  the  proper  intel- 
lectual forces.  In  the  reviving  of  a  past  image  or  idea,  it  is 
never  unimportant,  that  the  revival  gratifies  a  favourite  emo- 
tion, or  is  strongly  willed  in  the  pursuit  of  an  end.  We  must 
endeavour  to  appreciate,  as  far  as  we  are  able,  the  influence  of 
these  extra-intellectual  energies  within  the  sphere  of  intellect; 
but,  as  they  would  rarely  suffice  for  the  reproduction  of  thought, 
if  acting  apart  and  alone,  we  are  led  to  look  at  them  chiefly  as 
modifying  the  effects  of  the  strictly  intellectual  forces,  or  as 
combining  elements  in  the  composition  of  associations. 

The  general  law  may  be  stated  as  follows:  — 

Past  actions,  sensations,  thoughts,  or  emotions,  are  re- 
called more  easily,  when  associated  either  through  con- 
tiguity or  through  similarity,  with  more  than  one  present 
object  or  impression. 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    497 

Composition  of  Contigxhties 

2.  We  begin  with  the  composition  of  contiguities.  Instances 
might  be  cited  under  all  the  heads  of  the  first  chapter;  but  a 
less  profuse  selection  will  sufiice.  There  will,  however,  be  a 
gain  in  clearness  by  taking  Conjunctions  and  Successions 
separately. 

Conjunctions.  —  For  a  simple  example  of  a  compound  con- 
junction, we  may  suppose  a  person  smelling  a  liquid  and  iden- 
tifying the  smell  as  something  felt  before,  but  unable  to  recall 
to  mind  the  material  causing  it.  Here  the  bond  between  an 
odour  and  the  odorous  substance  is  too  feeble  for  reproducing 
the  idea  or  the  name  of  the  substance.  Suppose  farther  that 
the  person  could  taste  the  liquid  without  feeHng  the  odour,  and 
that  in  the  taste  he  could  recognize  a  former  taste,  but  could 
not  remember  the  thing.  If,  in  these  circumstances,  the  con- 
currence of  the  two  present  sensations  of  taste  and  smell 
brought  the  substance  to  the  recollection,  we  should  have  a 
true  instance  of  composite  association.  If  one  of  the  two  Hnks 
is  fully  equal  to  the  restoring  effect,  there  is  no  case  under  the 
present  law;  in  order  to  constitute  a  proper  example,  each 
should  be  insufficient  when  acting  singly.  Although  there  can 
be  no  doubt  as  to  the  fact  of  such  revivals,  we  might  easily  sup- 
pose it  otherwise.  Combination  is  not  strength  under  all  cir- 
cumstances. A  gallon  of  water  at  40°,  cannot  yield  a  spoonful 
at  41°.  Ten  thousand  commonplace  intellects  would  not 
make  one  genius,  under  any  system  of  co-operation.  The  mul- 
tiplication of  unaided  eyes  could  never  equal  the  vision  of  one 
person  with  a  telescope,  or  a  microscope. 

We  have  seen  that  the  complex  wholes  around  us  in  the  world, 
are  held  together  in  the  recollection  by  the  adhesive  force  of 
Contiguity;  such  objects  as  a  tree,  a  human  figure,  a  scene  in 
nature,  cannot  continue  in  the  mind,  or  be  revived  as  ideas, 
until  frequent  repetition  has  made  all  the  parts  coherent.  After 
the  requisite  iteration,  a  complex  object,  such  as  a  rural  village, 
may  be  revived  by  the  presence  of  a  single  portion  of  it,  as  some 
street,  or  building,  or  marked  locaUty.  But,  if  the  village  is  one 


498     .  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

not  very  well  known,  that  is,  if  the  notion  of  it  is  not  very  firmly 
aggregated  in  the  mind,  the  traveller  just  entering  may  be  not 
ready  to  identify  it  by  the  first  thing  that  strikes  him;  he  may 
require  to  go  on  till  several  other  objects  come  in  view,  when 
probably  their  joint  impression  will  be  able  to  bring  up  the 
whole,  in  other  words,  will  remind  him  what  village  he  is  now 
entering. 

So  in  regarding  objects  as  concretes ,  or  combinations  of  many 
distinct  qualities,  —  an  orange,  for  example,  which  affects  all 
the  senses,  —  a  fixing  process  makes  the  different  sensations 
hold  together  in  one  complex  idea.  Here,  too,  there  is  room  for 
the  joint  action  of  associating  Hnks  in  recalling  an  image  to  the 
mind.  I  have  already  imagined  a  case  of  this  description,  where 
the  united  action  of  smell  and  of  taste  was  supposed  to  revive 
the  idea  of  the  concrete  object  causing  them,  either  being  of 
itself  insufficient  for  the  purpose. 

5.  Successions.  —  I  have  dwelt  at  length,  in  a  previous  chap- 
ter, on  the  contiguous  association  of  successions  of  various 
kinds.  Here,  too,  in  the  circumstance  of  imperfect  adhesion, 
the  recovery  may  be  due  to  a  composite  action.  I  have  wit- 
nessed a  series  of  events,  and  these  are,  in  consequence,  associ- 
ated in  my  mind.  In  endeavouring  to  recall  the  series  from  the 
commencement,  a  link  fails,  until  some  other  association,  such 
as  place,  or  person,  contributes  an  assisting  thread. 

There  is  one  succession  that  contains  the  whole  of  our  experi- 
ence, that  is,  the  Order  of  Time,  or  the  sequence  of  events  in 
each  one's  own  history.  If  all  the  minutiae  of  this  succession 
were  to  cohere  perfectly  in  the  mind,  everything  that  we  have 
ever  done,  seen,  or  been  cognizant  of,  could  be  recovered  by 
means  of  it.  But  although  all  the  larger  transactions,  and  the 
more  impressive  scenes,  of  our  personal  history,  are  linked  in 
this  order  with  a  sufficient  firmness,  yet  for  smaller  incidents 
the  bond  is  too  weak.  I  cannot  remember  fully  my  yesterday's 
train  of  thoughts;  nor  repeat  verbatim  an  address  of  five 
minutes'  length,  whether  spoken  or  heard.  Things  related  in 
the  order  of  time  are,  strictly  speaking,  experienced  only  once, 
and  we  usually  require  repetition  to  fix  any  mental  train.   It 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    499 

constantly  happens,  therefore,  that  we  are  in  search  of  some 
reinforcing  connexion  to  help  us  in  recovering  the  stream  of 
events,  as  they  occurred  in  the  order  of  time.  We  seek  for  other 
conjunctions  and  successions  to  enable  us  to  recommence  after 
every  break. 

Experience  teaches  us,  that  the  only  way  of  making  up  a 
defective  adhesion  is  to  compass  in  our  minds  some  other  con- 
nexion, or  to  get  at  the  missing  object  through  a  new  door.  The 
inability  to  recollect  the  next  occurring  particular  of  a  train 
that  we  are  in  want  of,  stimulates  a  great  effort  of  volition,  and 
the  true  course  for  the  mind  to  take  is  to  get  upon  some  chain 
or  current  that  is  likely  to  cross  the  hne  of  the  first  near  the 
break. 

At  every  moment  of  life,  each  person  stands  immersed  in  a 
complicated  scene,  and  each  object  of  this  scene  may  become 
a  starting  point  for  a  train  of  recollections.  All  the  internal 
feelings  of  the  body;  everything  that  surrounds  us  and  strikes 
the  eye,  ear,  touch,  taste,  or  smell ;  all  the  ideas,  emotions,  and 
purposes  occupying  the  mind;  —  these  form  so  many  begin- 
nings of  trains  of  association  passing  far  away  into  the  remot- 
est regions  of  recollection  and  thought;  and  we  have  it  in  our 
power  to  stop  and  change  the  direction  as  often  as  we  please. 
From  some  one  of  these  present  things,  we  must  commence  our 
outgoings  towards  the  absent  and  the  distant,  whether  treading 
in  single  routes,  or  introducing  composite  action. 

6.  Language.  —  The  recall  of  names  by  things,  and  of  things 
by  names,  gives  special  occasion  for  bringing  in  additional  links 
to  aid  a  feeble  tie.  When  we  have  forgotten  the  name  of  a  per- 
son, or  of  an  object,  we  are  under  the  necessity  of  referring  back 
to  the  situation  and  circumstances  where  we  have  heard  the 
name,  to  see  if  any  other  bond  of  connexion  will  spring  up. 
Often  we  are  unable,  at  the  moment,  to  recover  the  lost  sound 
by  any  means;  but,  afterwards,  an  auxiliary  circumstance 
crosses  the  view,  and  the  revival  is  effected. 

Many  of  our  recollections,  thoughts,  conceptions,  and  imag- 
inings, are  an  inextricable  mixture  of  language  and  ideas  of 
things.  The  notions  that  we  acquire  through  oral  instruction, 


Soo  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

or  from  books,  are  made  up  in  part  by  the  subject  matter 
purely,  and  in  part  by  the  phraseology  that  conveyed  it.  Thus, 
my  recollection  of  a  portion  of  history  is  made  up  of  the  train  of 
words,  with  the  train  of  historical  facts  and  scenes,  as  I  might 
have  seen  them  with  my  own  eyes.  So  in  many  sciences,  there 
is  a  combination  of  visual  or  tactual  notions  with  language. 
Geometry  is  a  compound  of  visible  diagrams  with  the  language 
of  definitions,  axioms,  and  demonstrations.  Now,  in  all  these 
cases,  recollection  may  depend,  either  on  the  associations  of 
words,  or  on  those  of  visual  and  other  conceptions,  or  on  a  com- 
pound of  both.  If  I  listen  to  a  geographical  description,  there 
is,  in  the  first  place,  a  train  of  words  dropping  on  my  ear;  and, 
by  virtue  of  a  perfect  verbal  cohesion,  I  might  recall  the  whole 
description  and  recite  it  to  another  party.  In  the  second  place, 
there  is  a  series  of  views  of  objects  —  of  mountain,  river,  plain, 
and  forest  —  which  I  picture  in  my  mind  and  retain  inde- 
pendently of  the  language  used  to  suggest  them.  Were  my  pic- 
torial adhesion  strong  enough,  I  could  recall  the  whole  of  the 
features  in  the  order  that  I  was  made  to  conceive  them,  and 
leave  aside  the  language.  The  common  case,  however,  is  that 
the  recollection  is  effected  by  a  union  of  both  the  threads  of 
cohesion ;  the  pictorial  train  is  assisted  by  the  verbal,  and  the 
verbal  by  the  pictorial,  as  may  happen. 

Composition  of  Similarities 

7.  The  influence  of  the  multiplication  of  points  of  likeness, 
in  securing  the  revival  of  a  past  object,  is  liable  to  no  uncer- 
tainty. It  is  only  an  extension  of  the  principle  maintained  all 
through  the  discussion  of  the  law  of  similarity,  that  the  greater 
the  similitude,  and  the  more  numerous  the  points  of  resem- 
blance, the  surer  is  the  stroke  of  recall.  If  I  meet  a  person  very 
like  some  one  else  I  have  formerly  known,  the  probability  of 
my  recalling  this  last  person  to  view  is  increased,  if  the  likeness 
in  face  and  feature  is  combined  with  similarity  of  dress,  of 
speech,  of  gait,  or  of  any  still  more  extraneous  points,  such  as 
occupation,  or  history.   Increase  of  resemblance  extensivelyt 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    501 

that  is  by  outward  connexions,  has  the  same  power  as  increase 
of  resemblance  intensively,  in  rendering  the  restoration  of  the 
past  more  certain.  It  might  admit  of  a  doubt  whether  four  faint 
links  of  contiguous  adhesion  would  be  equal  to  one  strong  link, 
but  it  would  be  against  our  whole  experience  of  the  workings 
of  similarity,  to  doubt  the  utility  of  multiplying  faint  resem- 
blances, when  there  was  no  one  sufficiently  powerful  to  effect 
the  revival.  At  the  same  time,  we  must  admit  that  much  more 
is  contributed  to  the  chances  of  reinstatement  by  intensifying 
one  point  of  likeness,  than  by  adding  new  ones  of  a  faint  char- 
acter. By  raising  some  single  feature  almost  up  to  the  point  of 
identity,  we  should  do  more  good  than  could  be  done  by  scat- 
tering faint  and  detached  likenesses  over  the  picture.  This, 
however,  is  not  always  in  our  power;  and  we  are  glad  to  find, 
that,  when  the  similarity,  in  any  one  particular,  is  too  feeble 
to  suggest  the  resembhng  past,  the  existence  of  a  plurality  of 
weak  resemblances  will  be  the  equivalent  of  a  single  stronger 
one. 

On  this  view,  I  might  set  forth  the  workings  of  composite 
similarities,  from  the  various  classes  of  examples  gone  over  in 
the  preceding  chapter.  In  all  very  compHcated  conjunctions, 
as,  for  example,  a  landscape,  there  may  be  a  multiplication  of 
Hkenesses,  unable  to  strike  singly,  but,  by  their  concurrence 
suggesting  a  parallel  scene.  Hence,  in  endeavouring  to  recall 
resembling  things,  we  may  proceed,  as  in  Contiguity,  by  hunt- 
ing out  new  collaterals,  on  the  chance  of  increasing  the  amount 
of  similitude,  and,  with  that,  the  attractive  power  of  the  pres- 
ent for  the  absent.  If  I  am  endeavouring  to  recall  to  mind 
some  historic  parallel  to  a  present  political  situation,  suppos- 
ing one  to  exist  and  to  have  been  at  some  former  time  impressed 
on  my  mind,  there  may  be  a  want  of  any  single  salient  like- 
ness, such  as  we  admit  to  be  the  most  effective  medium  of 
reinstatement;  and  I  must,  therefore,  go  over  in  my  mind  all 
the  minute  features  of  the  present,  to  enhance,  in  this  way, 
the  force  of  the  attraction  of  similitude  for  the  forgotten 
parallel. 

8.  The  case  noticed  at  the  conclusion  of  the  preceding  head, 


502  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

namely,  the  combination  of  language  with  subject-matter  in  a 
mixed  recollection,  is  favourable  to  the  occurrence  of  com- 
pound similarity.  If  an  orator  has  to  deal  with  a  special  point, 
the  conduct  of  an  individual,  for  example,  which  he  wishes  to 
denounce  by  a  cutting  simile,  his  invention  may  be  aided  by 
some  similarity  in  the  phrases  descriptive  of  the  case,  as  well  as 
in  the  features  of  the  case  itself.  If  one  who  has  at  a  former  time 
read  the  play  of  (Edipus,  now  commences  to  read  Lear,  the 
similarity  is  not  at  first  apparent,  but  long  before  the  conclu- 
sion there  will  be  a  sufficient  accumulation  of  features  of  simili- 
tude, in  dramatic  situation  and  in  language,  to  bring  (Edipus  to 
mind  without  any  very  powerful  stretch  of  intellectual  force. 
So,  in  scientific  invention;  a  fact  described  in  language  has  a 
double  power  of  suggestion;  and  if,  by  good  luck,  the  fact  has  a 
likeness  to  some  other  fact,  and  the  description  resembles  the 
language  that  accompanied  that  other  when  formerly  present 
to  the  mind,  there  is  so  much  the  more  chance  of  the  revival 
taking  place. 

Mixed  Contiguity  and  Similarity 

9.  Under  this  head,  there  are  several  interesting  examples. 

If  any  one,  in  describing  a  storm,  employ  the  phrase  *  a  war 
of  elements,'  the  metaphor  has  been  brought  to  mind  partly  by 
similitude,  but  partly  also  by  contiguity,  seeing  that  the  com- 
parison has  already  been  made.  The  person  that  first  used  the 
phrase  came  upon  it  by  similarity;  he  that  used  it  next  had  con- 
tiguity to  assist  him;  and,  after  frequent  repetition,  the  bond 
of  contiguity  may  be  so  well  confirmed,  that  the  force  of 
similarity  is.  entirely  superseded.  In  this  way,  many  things 
that  were  originally  strokes  of  genius,  end  in  being  efi"orts  of 
mere  adhesive  recollection;  while,  for  a  time  previous  to  this 
final  consummation,  there  is  a  mixed  effort  of  the  two  suggest- 
ing forces.  Hence  Johnson's  remark  on  the  poet  Ogilvie,  that 
his  poem  contained  what  was  once  imagination,  but  in  him  had 
come  to  be  memory. 

In  all  regions  of  intellectual  exertion  —  industry,  science, 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  INTELLECT    503 

art,  literature  —  there  is  a  kind  of  ability  displayed  in  taking 
up  great  and  original  ideas  and  combinations,  before  they  have 
been  made  easy  by  iteration.  Minds  unable  for  the  highest 
efforts  of  origination  may  yet  be  equal  to  this  second  degree  of 
genius,  wherein  a  considerable  force  of  similarity  is  assisted  by 
a  small  thread  of  contiguity.  To  master  a  large  multitude  of 
the  discoveries  of  identification,  a  power  of  similarity  short  of 
the  original  force  that  gave  birth  to  them,  is  aided  by  the  con- 
tiguous bond  that  has  grown  up,  during  a  certain  number  of 
repetitions  of  each. 

10.  A  second  case  is,  when  a  similarity  is  struck  out  in  cir- 
cumstances such  as  to  bring  the  absent  object  into  near  proxim- 
ity in  some  contiguous  train.  Thus,  a  poet  falls  upon  a  beautiful 
metaphor,  while  dwelling  in  the  region  where  the  material  of  the 
simile  occurs.  In  the  country,  rural  comparisons  are  most 
easily  made;  on  ship-board,  nautical  metaphors  are  naturally 
abundant. 

If  we  chance  to  be  studying  by  turns  two  different  sciences 
that  throw  much  light  on  each  other,  we  are  in  the  best  position 
for  deriving  the  benefit  of  the  comparison.  When  we  know  the 
most  likely  source  of  fertile  similitudes  for  some  difficult  prob- 
lem, we  naturally  keep  near  that  source,  in  order  that  we  may 
be  struck  with  the  faintest  gleam  of  likeness,  through  the  help 
of  proximity.  A  historian  of  the  ancient  republics  cultivates  a 
familiarity  with  all  the  living  instances  of  the  republican  sys- 
tem. Now  that  physical  science  is  largely  indebted  to  mathe- 
matical handling,  the  physicist  has  to  maintain  his  freshness  in 
mathematics.  It  is  not  safe  to  trust  to  an  acquisition  of  old 
date,  however  pertinacious  the  mind  be  in  retaining  the  subject 
in  question.  The  great  discoveries  of  identification  that  aston- 
ish the  world  and  open  up  new  vistas  of  knowledge,  have  doubt- 
less often  been  helped  by  the  accidental  proximity  of  the  things 
made  to  flash  together.  For  illustration's  sake,  we  might  sup- 
pose Newton  in  the  act  of  meditating  upon  the  planetary  at- 
traction, at  the  time  that  the  celebrated  apple  fell  to  the  ground 
before  his  eyes;  a  proximity  so  very  close  would  powerfully  aid 
in  bringing  on  the  stroke  of  identification. 


504  ALEXANDER  BAIN 

CHAPTER  IV.  CONSTRUCTIVE  ASSOCIATION 

By  means  of  Association,  the  mind  has  the  power  to  form 
new  combinations,  or  aggregates,  different  from  any  that 
have  been  presented  to  it  in  the  course  of  experience. 

I.  Throughout  the  whole  of  the  preceding  exposition,  we 
have  had  in  view  the  literal  resuscitation,  revival,  or  reinstate- 
ment of  former  actions,  images,  emotions,  and  trains  of  thought. 
No  special  reference  has  been  made  to  the  operations  known  by 
such  names  as  Imagination,  Creation,  Constructiveness,  Orig- 
ination; through  which  we  are  supposed  to  put  together  new 
forms,  or  to  construct  images,  conceptions,  pictures,  and 
modes  of  working,  such  as  we  have  never  before  had  any  expe- 
rience of.  Yet  the  genius  of  the  Painter,  the  Poet,  the  Musi- 
cian, and  the  Inventor  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  evidently  im- 
plies a  process  of  this  nature. 

Under  the  head  of  Similarity,  we  have  had  to  recognize  a 
power  tending  to  originality  and  invention,  as  when — in  virtue 
of  the  identifying  of  two  things  lying  far  apart  in  nature  — 
whatever  is  known  of  the  one  is  instantly  transferred  to  the 
other,  thereby  constituting  a  new  and  instructive  combination 
of  ideas.  Such  was  the  case  when  Franklin's  identification  of 
electricity  and  thunder,  led  to  the  application  of  the  Leyden  jar 
to  explain  a  thunderstorm.  The  power  of  recalling  like  by  like, 
in  spite  of  remoteness,  disguise,  and  false  lures,  enters  into 
a  very  large  number  of  inventive  efforts,  both  in  the  sciences  and 
in  the  arts.  But  we  have  now  to  deal  with  constructions  of  a 
higher  order  of  complexity.  There  are  discoveries  that  seem 
nothing  short  of  absolute  creations,  as  the  whole  science  of 
Mathematics;  while,  in  the  Fine  Arts,  a  frieze  of  the  Parthe- 
non, a  Gothic  cathedral,  a  Paradise  Lost,  are  very  far  beyond 
the  highest  stretches  of  the  identifying  faculty  taken  by  itself. 

Nevertheless,  the  intellectual  forces  operating  in  those  crea- 
tions, are  no  other  than  the  associating  forces  already  discussed. 
The  new  combinations  grow  out  of  elements  already  possessed 
by  the  mind,  and  brought  to  view  according  to  the  laws  above 
laid  down. 


HERBERT  SPENCER 

(1820-1903) 

THE   PRINCIPLES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY* 

PART    II.    THE    INDUCTIONS    OF    PSYCHOLOGY 
CHAPTER    II.     THE    COMPOSITION    OF    MIND 

§  64.  In  the  last  chapter  we  incidentally  encroached  on 
the  topic  to  which  this  chapter  is  to  be  devoted.  Certain 
apparently-simple  feelings  were  shown  to  be  compounded  of 
units  of  feeling;  whence  it  was  inferred  that  possibly,  if  not 
probably,  feelings  of  other  classes  are  similarly  compounded. 
And  'n  thus  treating  of  the  composition  of  feelings,  we,  by 
implication,  treated  of  the  composition  of  Mind,  of  which  feel- 
ings are  themselves  components. 

Here,  however,  leaving  speculations  about  the  ultimate 
composition  of  Mind,  we  pass  to  observations  on  its  proximate 
composition.  Accepting  as  really  simple  those  constituents  of 
Mind  which  are  not  decomposable  by  introspection,  we  have 
to  consider  what  are  their  fundamental  distinctive  characters, 
and  what  are  the  essential  principles  of  arrangement  among 
them. 

§  65.  The  proximate  components  of  Mind  are  of  two  broadly- 
contrasted  kinds  —  Feehngs  and  the  Relations  between  feel- 
ings. Among  the  members  of  each  group  there  exist  multitad- 
inous  unlikenesses,  many  of  which  are  extremely  strong;  but 
such  unlikenesses  are  small  compared  with  those  which  dis- 
tinguish members  of  the  one  group  from  members  of  the  other. 
Let  us,  in  the  first  place,  consider  what  are  the  characters  which 
all  Feelings  have  in  common,  and  what  are  the  characters  which 
Relations  between  feelings  have  in  common. 

*  London,  1855;  2d  ed.  ib.  1870;  3d  ed.  ib.  1881;  5th  ed.  1890. 


5o6  HERBERT  SPENCER 

Each  feeling,  as  we  here  define  it,  is  any  portion  of  conscious- 
ness which  occupies  a  place  sufficiently  large  to  give  it  a  per- 
ceivable individuality;  which  has  its  individuality  marked  off 
from  adjacent  portions  of  consciousness  by  qualitative  con- 
trasts; and  which,  when  introspectively  contemplated,  appears 
to  be  homogeneous.  These  are  the  essentials.  Obviously  if 
under  introspection,  a  state  of  consciousness  is  decomposable, 
into  unlike  parts  that  exist  either  simultaneously  or  succes- 
sively, it  is  not  one  feeling  but  two  or  more.  Obviously  if  it  is 
indistinguishable  from  an  adjacent  portion  of  consciousness,  it 
forms  one  with  that  portion  —  is  not  an  individual  feeling  but 
part  of  one.  And  obviously  if  it  does  not  occupy  in  conscious- 
ness an  appreciable  area,  or  an  appreciable  duration,  it  cannot 
be  known  as  a  feeling. 

A  relation  between  feelings  is,  on  the  contrary,  characterized 
by  occupying  no  appreciable  part  of  consciousness.  Take  away 
the  terms  it  unites,  and  it  disappears  along  with  them ;  having 
no  independent  place  —  no  individuality  of  its  own.  It  is  true, 
that,  under  an  ultimate  analysis,  what  we  call  a  relation  proves 
to  be  itself  a  kind  of  feeling  —  the  momentary  feeling  accom- 
panying the  transition  from  one  conspicuous  feeling  to  an 
adjacent  conspicuous  feeling.  And  it  is  true  that,  notwith- 
standing its  extreme  brevity,  its  qualitative  character  is  appre- 
ciable; for  relations  are  (as  we  shall  hereafter  see)  distinguish- 
able from  one  another  only  by  the  unlikenesses  of  the  feelings 
which  accompany  the  momentary  transitions.  Each  relational 
feeling  may,  in  fact,  be  regarded  as  one  of  those  nervous  shocks 
which  we  suspect  to  be  the  units  of  composition  of  feelings;  and, 
though  instantaneous,  it  is  known  as  of  greater  or  less  strength 
and  as  taking  place  with  greater  or  less  facility.  But  the  con- 
trast between  these  relational  feelings  and  what  we  ordinarily 
call  feelings,  is  so  strong  that  we  must  class  them  apart.  Their 
extrem?  brevity,  their  small  variety,  and  their  dependence  on 
the  terms  they  unite,  differentiate  them  in  an  unmistakeable 
way.^ 

*  It  will  perhaps  be  objected  that  some  relations,  as  those  between  things 
which  are  distant  in  Space  or  in  Time,  occupy  distinguishable  portions  of  con- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   507 

Perhaps  it  will  be  well  to  recognize  more  fully  the  truth  that 
this  distinction  cannot  be  absolute.  Besides  admitting  that,  as 
an  element  of  consciousness,  a  relation  is  a  momentary  feeling, 
we  must  also  admit  that  just  as  a  relation  can  have  no  existence 
apart  from  the  feelings  which  form  its  terms,  so  a  feeling  can 
exist  only  by  relations  to  other  feelings  which  limit  it  in  space 
or  time  or  both.  Strictly  speaking,  neither  a  feeling  nor  a  rela- 
tion is  an  independent  element  of  consciousness:  there  is 
throughout  a  dependence  such  that  the  appreciable  areas  of 
consciousness  occupied  by  feelings,  can  no  more  possess  indir 
vidualities  apart  from  the  relations  which  link  them,  than  these 
relations  can  possess  individualities  apart  from  the  feelings  they 
link.  The  essential  distinction  between  the  two,  then,  appears 
to  be  that  whereas  a  relational  feeling  is  a  portion  of  conscious- 
ness inseparable  into  parts,  a  feeling  ordinarily  so-called,  is  a 
portion  of  consciousness  that  admits  imaginary  division  into 
like  parts  which  are  related  to  one  another  in  sequence  or  co- 
existence. A  feeling  proper  is  either  made  up  of  like  parts  that 
occupy  time,  or  it  is  made  up  of  like  parts  that  occupy  space,  or 
both.  In  any  case,  a  feeling  proper  is  an  aggregate  of  related 
like  parts,  while  a  relational  feeling  is  undecomposable.  And 
this  is  exactly  the  contrast  between  the  two  which  must  result 
if,  as  we  have  inferred,  feelings  are  composed  of  units  of  feeling, 
or  shocks. 

§  66.  Simple  feelings  as  above  defined,  are  of  various  kinds. 
To  say  anything  here  about  the  classification  of  them,  involves 
some  forestalling  of  a  future  chapter.  This  breach  of  order, 
however,  is  unavoidable;  for  until  certain  provisional  groupings 
have  been  made,  further  exposition  is  scarcely  practicable. 

Limiting  our  attention  to  seemingly-homogeneous  feelings 
as  primarily  experienced,  they  may  be  divided  into  the  feelings 
which  are  centrally  initiated  and  the  feelings  which  are  peri- 

sciousness.  These,  however,  are  not  the  simple  relations  between  adjacent 
feelings  which  we  are  here  dealing  with.  They  are  relations  that  bridge  over 
great  numbers  of  intervening  feelings  and  relations;  and  come  into  existence 
only  by  quick  transitions  through  these  intervening  states,  ending  in  the  consoli- 
dation of  them. 


5o8  HERBERT  SPENCER 

pherally  initiated  —  emotions  and  sensations.  These  have 
widely  unlike  characters.  Towards  the  dose  of  this  volume 
evidence  will  be  found  that  while  the  sensations  are  relatively 
simple,  the  emotions,  though  seeming  to  be  simple  are  ex- 
tremely compound;  and  that  a  marked  contrast  of  character 
between  them  hence  results.  But  without  referring  to  any 
essential  unlikeness  of  composition,  we  shall  shortly  see  that 
between  the  centrally-initiated  feelings  and  the  peripherally- 
initiated  feelings,  fundamental  distinctions  may  be  established 
by  introspective  comparison. 

A  subdivision  has  to  be  made.  The  peripherally-initiated 
feelings,  or  sensations,  may  be  grouped  into  those  which, 
caused  by  disturbances  at  the  ends  of  nerves  distributed  on 
the  outer  surface,  are  taken  to  imply  outer  agencies,  and  those 
which,  caused  by  disturbances  at  the  ends  of  nerves  distributed 
within  the  body,  are  not  taken  to  imply  outer  agencies;  which 
last,  though  not  peripherally  initiated  in  the  ordinary  sense,  are 
so  in  the  physiological  sense.  But  as  between  the  exterior  of  the 
body  and  its  interior,  there  are  all  gradations  of  depth,  it  results 
that  this  distinction  is  a  broadly  marked  one,  rather  than  a 
sharply  marked  one.  We  shall,  however,  find  that  certain  dif- 
ferential characters  among  the  sensations  accompany  this  dif- 
ference of  distribution  of  the  nerves  in  which  they  arise;  and 
that  they  are  decided  in  proportion  to  the  relative  superficiality 
or  centrality  of  these  nerves. 

In  contrast  with  this  class  of  primary  or  real  feelings,  thus 
divided  and  subdivided,  has  to  be  set  the  complementary  class 
of  secondary  or  ideal  feelings,  similarly  divided  and  subdivided. 
Speaking  generally,  the  two  classes  differ  greatly  in  intensity. 
While  the  primary  or  originally-produced  feelings  are  relatively 
vivid,  the  secondary  or  reproduced  feelings  are  relatively  faint. 
It  should  be  added  that  the  vivid  feelings  are  taken  to  imply 
objective  exciting  agents  then  and  there  acting  on  the  peri- 
phery of  the  nervous  system;  while  the  faint  feelings,  though 
taken  to  imply  objective  exciting  agents  which  thus  acted  at  a 
past  time,  are  not  taken  to  imply  their  present  action. 

We  are  thus  obliged  to  carry  with  us  a  classification  based 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   509 

on  structure  and  a  classification  based  on  function.  The  divi- 
sion into  centrally-initiated  feelings,  called  emotions,  and  peri- 
pherally-initiated feelings,  called  sensations;  and  the  subdivi- 
sion of  these  last  into  sensations  that  arise  on  the  exterior  of  the 
body  and  sensations  that  arise  in  its  interior;  respectively  refer 
to  differences  among  the  parts  in  action.  Whereas  the  division 
into  vivid  or  real  feelings  and  faint  or  ideal  feelings,  cutting 
across  the  other  divisions  at  right  angles  as  we  may  say,  refers 
to  difference  of  amount  in  the  actions  of  these  parts.  The  first 
classification  has  in  view  unlikenesses  of  kind  among  the  feel- 
ings; and  the  second,  a  marked  unlikeness  of  degree,  common  to 
all  the  kinds. 

§  67.  From  the  classes  of  simple  feelings  we  pass  to  the 
classes  of  simple  relations  between  feelings,  respecting  which 
also,  something  must  be  said  before  we  can  proceed.  In  default 
of  an  ultimate  analysis,  which  cannot  be  made  at  present,  cer- 
tain brief  general  statements  must  suffice. 

As  already  said,  the  requisite  to  the  existence  of  a  relation 
is  the  existence  of  two  feelings  between  which  it  is  the  link.  The 
requisite  to  the  existence  of  two  feelings  is  some  difference. 
And  therefore  the  requisite  to  the  existence  of  a  relation  is  the 
occurrence  of  a  change  —  the  passage  from  one  apparently- 
uniform  state  to  another  apparently-uniform  state,  implying 
the  momentary  shock  produced  by  the  commencement  of  a 
new  state. 

It  follows  that  the  degree  of  the  change  or  shock,  constituting 
in  other  words  the  consciousness  of  the  degree  of  difference 
between  the  adjacent  states,  is  the  ultimate  basis  of  the  dis- 
tinctions among  relations.  Hence  the  fundamental  division  of 
them  into  relations  between  feelings  that  are  equal,  or  those  of 
likeness  (which  however  must  be  divided  by  some  portion  of 
consciousness  that  is  unlike  them),  and  relations  between  feel- 
ings that  are  unequal,  or  those  of  unlikeness.  These  last  fall 
into  what  we  may  distinguish  as  relations  of  descending  inten- 
sity and  relations  of  ascending  intensity,  according  as  the  tran- 
sition is  to  a  greater  or  to  a  less  amount  of  feeling.  And  they 


Sio  HERBERT  SPENCER 

are  further  distinguishable  into  relations  of  quantitative  un- 
likeness,  or  those  occurring  between  feelings  of  the  same  nature 
but  different  in  degree,  and  relations  of  qualitative  unlikeness, 
or  those  occurring  between  feelings  not  of  the  same  nature. 

Relations  thus  contemplated  simply  as  changes,  and  grouped 
according  to  the  degree  of  change  or  the  kind  of  change,  sever- 
ally belong  to  one  or  other  of  two  great  categories  which  take 
no  account  of  the  terms  as  like  or  unlike  in  nature  or  amount, 
but  which  take  account  only  of  their  order  of  occurrence,  as 
either  simultaneous  or  successive.  This  fundamental  division 
of  relations  into  those  of  co-existence  and  those  of  sequence,  is, 
however,  itself  dependent  on  the  preceding  division  into  rela- 
tions of  equality  between  feelings  and  relations  of  inequality 
between  them.  For  relations  themselves  have  to  be  classed  as  of 
like  or  unlike  kinds  by  comparing  the  momentary  feelings  that 
attend  the  establishment  of  them,  and  observing  whether  these 
are  like  or  unlike,  and,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  the  relations  of 
co-existence  and  sequence  are  distinguished  from  one  another 
only  by  process  of  this  kind.    . 

§  68.  Having  defined  simple  feelings  and  simple  relations, 
and  having  provisionally  classified  the  leading  kinds  of  each, 
we  may  now  go  on  to  observe  how  Mind  is  made  up  of  these 
elements,  and  how  different  portions  of  it  are  characterized  by 
different  modes  of  combination  of  them. 

Tracts  of  consciousness  formed  of  feelings  that  are  centrally* 
initiated,  are  widely  unlike  tracts  of  consciousness  formed  of 
feelings  that  are  peripherally  initiated ;  and  of  the  tracts  of  con- 
sciousness formed  of  peripherally-initiated  feelings,  those  parts 
occupied  by  feelings  that  take  their  rise  in  the  interior  of  the 
body  are  widely  unlike  those  parts  occupied  by  feelings  that 
take  their  rise  on  the  exterior  of  the  body.  The  marked  unlike- 
nesses  are  in  both  cases  due  to  the  greater  or  smaller  porpor- 
tions  of  the  relational  elements  that  are  present.  Whereas 
among  centrally-initiated  feelings,  the  mutual  limitations,  both 
simultaneous  and  successive,  are  vague  and  far  between;  and 
whereas  among  peripherally-initiated  feelings  caused  by  inter- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   511 

nal  disturbances,  some  are  extremely  indefinite,  and  few  or  none 
definite  in  a  high  degree;  feelings  caused  by  external  disturb- 
ances are  mostly  related  quite  clearly,  alike  by  co-existence  and 
sequence,  and  among  the  highest  of  them  the  mutual  limita- 
tions in  space  or  time  or  both,  are  extremely  sharp.  These 
broad  contrasts,  dependent  on  the  extent  to  which  the  elements 
of  feeling  are  compounded  with  the  elements  of  relation,  cannot 
be  understood,  and  their  importance  perceived,  without  Illus- 
trations. We  will  begin  with  those  parts  of  Mind  distinguished 
by  predominance  of  the  relational  elements. 

Remembering  that  the  lenses  of  the  eye  form  a  nonsentient 
optical  apparatus  that  casts  images  on  the  retina,  we  may  fairly 
say  that  the  retina  is  brought  more  directly  into  contact  with 
the  external  agent  acting  on  it  than  is  any  other  peripheral 
expansion  of  the  nervous  system.  And  it  is  in  the  tracts  of  con- 
sciousness produced  by  the  various  lights  reflected  from  objects 
around  and  concentrated  on  the  retina,  that  we  find  the  ele- 
ments of  feeling  most  intimately  woven  up  with  the  elements  of 
relation.  The  multitudinous  states  of  consciousness  yielded  by 
vision,  are  above  all  others  sharp  in  theirmutual  limitations;  the 
differences  that  occur  between  adjacent  ones  are  extremely 
definite.  It  is  further  to  be  noted  that  the  relational  element  is 
here  dominant  under  both  of  its  fundamental  forms.  Some  of 
the  feelings  simultaneously  limit  one  another  with  great  dis- 
tinctness, and  some  of  them  with  equal  distinctness  succes- 
sively limit  one  another.  The  feelings  caused  by 
actions  on  the  general  surface  of  the  body  are  marked  off  clearly, 
though  by  no  means  so  clearly  as  those  which  arise  in  the  retina. 
Sensations  of  touch  initiated  at  points  on  the  skin  very  near  one 
another,  form  parts  of  consciousness  that  are  separate  though 
adjacent;  and  these  are  distinguishable  not  only  as  co-existing 
in  close  promixity,  but  also  as  distinct  from  kindred  sensations 
immediately  preceding  or  immediately  succeeding  them. 
Moreover  the  definiteness  of  their  mutual  limitations,  in  space 
if  not  in  time,  is  greatest  among  the  sensations  of  touch  pro- 
ceeding from  parts  of  the  surface  which  have,  in  a  sense,  the 
greatest  externality  —  the  parts  which,  like  the  tips  of  the 


512  HERBERT  SPENCER 

fingers  and  the  tip  of  the  tongue,  have  the  most  frequent  and 
varied  converse  with  outer  objects.^  Next  in  the 

definiteness  of  their  mutual  limitations  come  the  auditory  feel- 
ings. Among  such  of  these  as  occur  together,  the  relations  are 
marked  with  imperfect  clearness.  Received  through  unculti- 
vated ears,  only  a  few  simultaneous  sounds  are  vaguely  sepa- 
rable in  consciousness;  though  received  through  the  ears  of  a 
musician,  many  such  sounds  may  be  distinguished  and  identi- 
fied. But  among  successive  sounds  the  relational  components 
of  mind  are  conspicuous.  Differences  between  tones  that  follow 
one  another,  even  very  rapidly,  are  clearly  perceived.  But  the 
demarcations  are  less  decided  than  those  between  contrasted 
sensations  in  the  field  of  vision.  Passing  to  the  sen- 

sations of  taste,  we  see  that  these,  less  external  in  their  origin 
(for  it  is  not  in  the  tip  of  the  tongue,  but  over  its  hinder  part 
and  the  back  of  the  palate,  that  the  gustatory  nerves  are  dis- 
tributed) ,  are  comparatively  indefinite  in  their  relations.  Such 
distinctions  as  may  be  perceived  between  tastes  that  co-exist 
are  comparatively  vague,  and  can  be  extended  to  but  two  or 
three.  Similarly,  the  beginnings  and  ends  of  successive  tastes 
are  far  less  sharp  than  the  beginnings  and  ends  of  the  visual 
impressions  we  receive  at  every  glance;  nor  can  successive 
tastes  be  distinguished  with  anything  like  the  same  rapidity  as 
successive  tones.  Even  more  undecided  are  the  mu- 

tual limitations  among  sensations  of  smell,  which,  like  the  last, 
originate  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  surface  (for  the 
nose  is  not  the  seat  of  smell :  the  olfactory  chamber,  with  which 
the  nostrils  communicate,  is  seated  high  up  between  the  eyes). 
Of  simultaneous  smells  the  discrimination  is  very  vague;  and 
probably  not  more  than  three  can  be  separately  identified.  Of 
smells  that  follow  one  another,  it  is  manifest  that  they  begin 
and  end  indefinitely,  and  that  they  cannot  be  experienced  in 
rapid  succession. 

*  The  tongue  is  a  much  more  active  tactual  organ  than  at  first  appears.  The 
mechanical  impressions  it  receives  are  not  limited  to  those  given  by  the  food 
which  it  manages  during  mastication;  but  at  other  times  it  is  perpetually  explor- 
ing the  inner  surfaces  of  the  teeth,  which  are  to  it  external  bodies. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   513 

We  come  now  to  the  peripherally-initiated  feelings  set  up  by 
internal  disturbances.  Among  these  the  most  superficial  in 
origin  and  most  relational  as  they  exist  in  consciousness,  are  the 
sensations  of  muscular  tension.  Though,  except  when  making 
vigorous  efforts,  these  are  but  feeble;  though  such  as  are  present 
together  mutually  limit  one  another  in  a  very  vague  way;  and 
though  their  beginnings  and  ends  are  so  blurred  that  a  series  of 
them  is  but  indistinctly  separable  into  parts ;  yet  they  are  juxta- 
posed and  contrasted  to  the  extent  implied  by  discriminations 
and  recognitions  of  them  —  discriminations  and  recognitions  so 
partial,  however,  as  frequently  to  require  indirect  verifications. 
It  should  be  added  that  the  relations  among  muscular  feelings 
are  variable  in  abundance  and  distinctness.  They  are  most  con- 
spicuous when  the  feelings  come  from  muscles  that  are  small, 
and  in  perpetual  action,  as  those  which  move  the  eyes,  the  fin- 
gers, and  the  vocal  organs;  and  least  conspicuous  when  the 
feelings  come  from  muscles  that  are  large  or  centrally  seated, 
or  both,  as  those  of  the  legs  and  of  the  trunk.  Pass- 

ing over  abnormal  feelings  of  pain  and  discomfort  due  to  dis- 
turbances of  nerves  distributed  within  the  limbs  and  body, 
among  which  the  small  proportion  of  the  relational  element  is 
manifest,  it  will  suffice  if  we  come  at  once  to  the  feelings  origin- 
ating in  parts  that  are  remotest  from  the  external  world,  and 
which,  at  least  relational,  are  most  distinguished  from  those  we 
set  out  with.  Hunger  is  extremely  vague  in  its  beginning  and 
end.  Commencing  unobtrusively  and  ceasing  gradually,  it  is 
utterly  unlike  those  feelings  which,  closely  contiguous  in  time, 
make  one  another  distinct  by  mutual  limitation.  Neither  is  it 
appreciably  marked  out  by  co-existing  feelings;  its  position 
among  simultaneous  states  of  consciousness  is  indeterminate. 
And  this  indefiniteness  of  relation,  both  in  space  and  time, 
characterizes  other  visceral  feelings,  both  normal  and  ab- 
normal. 

Of  the  centrally-initiated  feelings,  or  emotions,  much  the 
same  has  to  be  said  as  of  the  last.  Their  beginnings  and  endings 
in  time  are  comparatively  indefinite,  and  they  have  no  definite 
localizations  in  space.  That  is  to  say,  they  are  not  limited  by 


514  HERBERT  SPENCER 

preceding  and  succeeding  states  of  consciousness  with  any  pre- 
cision; and  no  identifiable  bounds  are  put  to  them  by  states  of 
consciousness  that  co-exist.  Here,  then,  the  relational  element 
of  mind  is  extremely  inconspicuous.  The  sequences  among 
emotions  that  can  occur  in  a  given  period,  are  comparatively 
few  and  indeterminate;  and  between  such  two  or  three  emo- 
tions as  can  co-exist  it  is  impossible  to  distinguish  in  more  than 
a  vague  way. 

§  69.  Further  and  equally  important  distinctions  obtain 
between  the  tracts  of  consciousness  thus  broadly  contrasted, 
and  they  are  similarly  caused.  Presence  of  the  relational  ele- 
ments, seen  in  the  mutual  limitations  of  feelings,  simultaneous 
and  successive,  is  accompanied  by  the  mutual  cohesion  of 
feelings;  and  absence  of  the  relational  elements,  seen  in  the 
indeterminate  boundaries  of  feelings  in  space  and  time,  is 
accompanied  by  their  incoherence.  Let  us  re-observe  the  tracts 
of  consciousness  above  compared. 

The  sharply-defined  patches  of  colour  that  occur  together 
in  a  visual  impression,  are  indissolubly  united  —  held  rigidly 
in  juxtaposition.  And  successive  visual  feelings,  such  as  are 
produced  by  transferring  the  gaze  from  one  object  to  another, 
have  a  strength  of  connection  that  gives  a  fixed  consciousness 
of  their  order.  Thus  the  visual  feelings,  above  all  others  dis- 
tinguished by  the  sharpness  of  their  mutual  limitations,  are 
absolutely  coherent  in  space  and  very  coherent  in  time. 
Between  sensations  of  touch  given  by  an  object  grasped,  the 
cohesion  is  not  so  great.  Though  the  two  feelings  produced  by 
two  points  felt  simultaneously  by  a  finger,  hold  together  so 
that  they  cannot  be  removed  far  from  one  another  in  con- 
sciousness; yet  the  bond  uniting  them  has  much  less  rigidity 
than  the  bond  uniting  the  visual  feelings  produced  by  the 
two  points ;  and  when  the  feelings  are  more  than  two,  their 
connections  in  consciousness  are  loose  enough  to  permit  of 
much  variation  in  the  conception  of  their  relative  positions. 
Still  the  strength  of  links  between  co-existing  feelings  of  touch 
is  considerable;  as  is  also  that  between  successive  feeUngs  of  the 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   515 

same  kind.  Among  the  simultaneous  feelings  caused 

by  simultaneous  sounds,  especially  if  they  are  not  in  harmony, 
the  defect  of  cohesion  is  as  marked  as  the  defect  of  mutual 
h'mitation.  But  among  the  successive  feelings  produced  by  suc- 
cessive sounds,  we  find  that  along  with  distinct  mutual  Kmita- 
tions  there  go  decided  mutual  cohesions.  Sequent  notes,  or 
articulations,  cling  together  with  tenacity.  Much 

less  clearly  bounded  by  one  another  as  are  tastes,  simultaneous 
and  successive,  they  are  also  comparatively  incoherent.  Among 
co-existent  tastes  there  are  no  connections  like  those  between 
co-existent  visual  feelings,  or  even  like  those  between  the 
sounds  produced  at  the  same  instant  by  a  band ;  and  tastes  do 
not  hold  together  in  sequence  as  do  the  tones  of  cadence. 
Of  smells  the  like  is  true.  Along  with  vagueness  in  the  bound- 
ing of  one  by  another  there  goes  but  a  feeble  Unking  together. 
The  feelings  accompanying  muscular  actions  have  cohesions 
that  are  hidden  in  much  the  same  way  as  are  their  limitations. 
The  difiiculty  of  observing  the  mutual  limitations  of  muscular 
feelings,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  each  muscle,  or  set  of  muscles, 
passes  from  a  state  of  rest  to  a  state  of  action  or  from  a  state  of 
action  to  a  state  of  rest,  through  gradations  that  occupy  an  ap- 
preciable time ;  and  that,  consequently,  the  accompanying  feel- 
ing, instead  of  beginning  and  ending  strongly,  shades  off  at  both 
extremes.  Being  thus  weak  at  the  places  where  they  are  con- 
tiguous, these  feelings  are  incapable  of  strong  cohesions.  Indeed, 
if  we  except  those  which  accompany  great  efforts,  we  may  say 
that  they  are  altogether  so  faint  compared  with  most  others 
that  their  relations,  both  in  kind  and  order,  are  necessarily 
inconspicuous.  Their  cohesions  are  in  a  great  degree  those  of 
automatic  nervous  acts;  and  are  by  so  much  the  less  the  cohe- 
sions of  conscious  states.  Those  very  vague  feelings 
which  have  their  seats  in  the  viscera,  may,  as  before,  be  exem- 
plified by  hunger.  Here  where  we  reach  such  extreme  inde- 
finiteness  of  limitation,  both  in  space  and  time,  we  reach  an 
extreme  want  of  cohesion.  Hunger  does  not  suddenly  follow 
some  other  into  consciousness;  nor  is  it  suddenly  followed  by 
some  other.  Neither  is  there  any  simultaneous  feeling  to  which 


5i6  HERBERT  SPENCER 

it  clings.    The  relational  element  of  Mind  is  almost  absent; 
holding  only  in  a  feeble  degree  with  some  tastes  and  smells. 

Lastly^  among  the  centrally-initiated  feelings,  or  emotions, 
the  same  connection  of  characters  occurs.  When  emotions 
co-exist,  they  can  scarcely  be  said  to  hold  together:  the  bond 
between  them  is  so  feeble,  that  each  may  disappear  without 
affecting  the  others.  Between  sequent  emotions  the  links  have 
no  appreciable  strength :  no  one  is  attached  to  another  in  such 
way  as  to  produce  constancy  of  succession.  And  though  be- 
tween emotions  and  certain  more  definite  feelings  which  pre- 
cede them,  there  are  strong  connections,  yet  these  connections 
are  not  between  emotions  and  single  antecedent  feelings,  but 
between  emotions  and  large  groups  of  antecedent  feelings;  and 
even  this  cohesion,  very  variable  in  its  strength,  may  entirely 
fail. 

§  70.  A  further  trait  in  the  composition  of  Mind,  dependent 
on  these  correlated  traits,  may  next  be  set  down.  We  have  seen 
that  tracts  of  consciousness  formed  of  feelings  produced  by 
external  disturbances,  are  mostly  distinguished  by  predomi- 
nance of  the  relational  element,  involving  clearness  of  mutual 
limitation  and  strength  of  cohesion  among  the  component 
feelings;  and  we  have  seen  that,  contrariwise,  the  feelings  pro- 
duced by  internal  disturbances,  peripheral  and  central  are 
mostly  distnguished  by  comparative  want  of  the  relational 
element,  involving  proportionate  defect  of  mutual  limitation 
and  cohesion.  We  have  now  to  observe  that  the  tracts  of  con- 
sciousness thus  broadly  contrasted,  are,  by  consequence,  broadly 
contrasted  in  the  respect  that,  in  the  one  case,  the  component 
feelings  can  unite  into  coherent  and  well-defined  clusters,  while, 
in  the  other  case,  they  cannot  so  unite. 

The  state  of  consciousness  produced  by  an  object  seen  is 
composed  of  sharply-outlined  lights,  shades,  and  colours,  and 
the  co-existent  feelings  and  relations  entering  into  one  of  these 
groups  form  an  indissoluble  whole.  To  a  considerable  degree, 
successive  visual  feelings  cling  together  in  defined  groups.  As 
most  of  them  are  caused  by  moving  objects  more  or  less  com- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   517 

plex,  it  is  difficult  to  trace  this  clustering  of  them  in  sequence 
apart  from  their  clustering  in  co-existence.  But  if  we  take  the 
case  of  a  bird  that  suddenly  flies  past  close  to  a  window  out  of 
which  we  are  looking,  it  is  manifest  that  the  successive  feelings 
form  a  consciousness  of  its  line  of  movement  so  defined  and 
coherent  that  we  know,  without  having  moved  the  eyes,  what 
was  its  exact  course.  The  clustering  of  auditory 

feelings,  comparatively  feeble  among  those  occurring  sinml- 
taneously,  is  comparatively  strong  among  those  occurring  suc- 
cessively. Hence  the  consolidated  groups  of  sounds  which  we 
know  in  consciousness  as  words.  Hence  the  chains  of  notes 
which  we  remember  as  musical  phrases.  The  clustering 

of  tactual  feelings  in  relations  of  co-existence,  though  by  no 
means  so  decided  as  the  clustering  of  co-existent  visual  feelings, 
either  in  the  extent  or  complexity  of  the  clusters  or  the  firmness 
with  which  their  components  are  united,  is  nevertheless  consid- 
erable. When  the  hand  is  laid  on  some  small  object,  as  a  key,  a 
number  of  impressions  may  be  distinguished  as  separate  though 
near,  one  another;  but  while  their  mutual  relations  are  so  far 
fixed  that  approximate  limits  within  which  they  exist  are 
known,  they  do  not  constitute  anything  like  such  a  fixed  and 
defined  group  as  those  given  by  vision  of  the  key.  This  imper- 
fect clustering  in  co-existence  is  accompanied  by  imperfect  clus- 
tering in  sequence.  The  successive  feelings  produced  by  a  fly 
creeping  over  the  hand,  hold  together  strongly  enough  and 
definitely  enough  to  constitute  a  consciousness  of  its  general 
movement  as  being  towards  the  wrist  or  from  the  wrist,  across 
fi  m  right  to  left  or  from  left  to  right;  but  they  do  not  form  a 
consciousness  of  its  exact  course.  Tastes  unite  only 

into  very  simple  and  incoherent  clusters  in  co-existence;  while 
in  sequence  they  scarcely  unite  at  all.  And  the  like  is  true  of 
smells. 

Such  capability  of  clustering  as  is  displayed  by  the  peri- 
pherally-initiated feelings  caused  by  internal  disturbances,  oc- 
curs among  those  accompanying  the  movements  of  muscles. 
But,  along  with  the  comparative  vagueness  of  limitation  and 
want  of  strong  cohesion  which  characterize  these  feelings,  there 


Si8  HERBERT  SPENCER 

goes  a  comparative  indistinctness  of  the  clusters.  Though  the 
nervous  acts  of  which  muscular  motions  are  results,  combine 
into  groups  with  much  precision,  yet  the  combination  of  them, 
at  first  feeble,  becomes  strong  only  by  repetition.  And  as  the 
repetition  which  makes  the  combination  strong,  makes  it  to  the 
same  extent  automatic,  the  concomitant  feelings  become  less 
and  less  distinct,  and  fade  from  consciousness  as  fast  as  they 
unite.  How,  in  muscular  acts,  complete  clustering  and  uncon- 
sciousness go  together,  is  seen  in  the  fact  that  consciousness 
impedes  clustered  muscular  acts.  After  having  many  times 
gone  through  the  series  of  compound  movements  required,  it  is 
possible  to  walk  across  the  room  in  the  dark  and  lay  hold  of  the 
handle  of  the  door  —  so  long,  that  is,  as  the  movements  are 
gone  through  unthinkingly.  If  they  are  consciously  made, 
failure  is  almost  certain.  Of  the  further  class  of  feel- 

ings initiated  within  the  body,  including  appetites,  pains,  &c., 
it  is  scarcely  needful  to  say  that  there  is  among  them  no  forma- 
tion of  coherent  groups.  Their  great  indefiniteness  of  limita- 
tion and  accompanying  want  of  cohesion,  forbid  unions  of  them, 
either  simultaneous  or  successive. 

Obviously  the  emotions  are  characterized  by  a  like  want  of 
combining  power.  A  confused  and  changing  chaos  is  produced 
by  any  of  them  which  co-exist.  In  fact,  the  absence  among 
them  of  capacity  for  uniting,  is  as  marked  as  its  presence 
among  those  visual  feelings  with  which  we  set  out. 

§  71.  We  come  now  to  more  complex  manifestations  of  these 
general  contrasts.  In  tracts  of  consciousness  where  the  rela- 
tional element  predominates,  and  where  the  clustering  of  feel- 
ings is  consequently  decided,  the  clusters  themselves  enter  into 
relations  one  with  another.  Grouped  feelings,  together  with 
the  relations  uniting  them,  are  fused  into  wholes  which,  com- 
porting themselves  as  single  feelings  do,  combine  with  other 
such  consolidated  groups  in  definite  relations;  and  even  groups 
of  groups,  similarly  fused,  become  in  like  manner  limited  by, 
and  coherent  with,  other  groups  of  groups.  Conversely,  in 
tracts  of  consciousness  where  the  relations  are  few  and  vague, 
nothing  of  the  kind  takes  place. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   519 

It  is  among  the  visual  feelings,  above  all  others  multitudin- 
ous, definite,  and  coherent  in  their  relations,  that  this  com- 
pound clustering  is  carried  to  the  greatest  extent.  Along  with 
the  ability  to  form  that  complex  consciousness  of  lights,  shades, 
and  colours,  joined  in  relative  positions,  which  constitute  a 
man  as  present  to  sight,  there  goes  the  ability  to  form  a  con- 
sciousness of  two  men  in  a  definite  and  coherent  relation  of 
position  —  there  goes  the  abihty  to  form  a  consciousness 
of  a  crowd  of  such  men;  nay,  two  or  more  such  crowds 
may  be  mentally  combined.  The  aggregate  of  definitely- 
related  visual  feelings  known  as  a  house,  itself  aggregates 
with  others  such  to  form  the  consciousness  of  a  street,  and  the 
streets  to  form  the  consciousness  of  a  town.  Though  the  com- 
pound clustering  of  visual  feelings  in  sequence  is  not  so  distinct 
or  so  strong,  it  is  still  very  marked.  Numerous  complicated 
images  produced  by  objects  seen  in  succession,  hang  together 
in  consciousness  with  considerable  tenacity.  There  is 

little,  if  any,  clustering  of  clusters  among  the  simultaneous 
auditory  feelings.  But  among  the  successive  auditory  feelings 
there  are  definite  and  coherent  combinations  of  groups  with 
groups.  The  fused  set  of  sounds  we  call  a  word,  unites  with 
many  others  such  into  a  sentence.  In  some  minds  these  clus- 
ters of  clusters  of  successive  sounds  again  cluster  very  defin- 
itely and  coherently:  many  successive  sentences  are,  as  we  say, 
accurately  remembered.  And  similarly,  musical  phrases  will 
cling  together  into  a  long  and  elaborate  melody.  Among 

the  tactual  feelings  this  compound  clustering  is  scarcely  trace- 
able, either  in  space  or  time;  and  there  is  not  the  remotest 
approach  to  it  in  the  olfactory  and  gustatory  feelings. 

For  form's  sake  it  is  needful  to  say  that  these  higher  degrees 
of  mental  composition  are  entirely  wanting  among  the  inter- 
nally-initiated feelings.  Only  among  those  which  accompany 
muscular  motion  is  there  any  approach  to  it;  and  here  the 
compound  clustering,  like  the  simple  clustering,  entails  pro- 
gressing unconsciousness. 

§  72.   One  more  kindred  trait  of  composition  must  be  set 


S20  HERBERT  SPENCER 

down.  Thus  far  we  have  observed  only  the  degrees  of  mutual 
limitation,  of  cohesion,  and  of  complex  combining  power, 
among  feelings  within  each  order.  It  remains  to  observe  the 
extent  to  which  feelings  of  one  order  enter  into  relations  with 
those  of  another,  and  the  consequent  amounts  of  their  mutual 
limitations  and  of  their  combining  powers.  To  trace  out  these 
at  all  fully  would  carry  us  into  unmanageable  detail.  We  must 
confine  ourselves  to  leading  facts. 

Feelings  of  different  orders  do  not  limit  one  another  as  clearly 
as  feelings  of  the  same  order  do.  The  clustered  colours  pro- 
duced by  an  object  at  which  we  look  are  but  little  interfered 
with  by  a  sound:  the  sound  does  not  put  any  appreciable 
boundary  to  them  in  consciousness,  but  serves  merely  to  di- 
minish their  dominance  in  consciousness.  Neither  the  combined 
noises  which  make  up  a  conversation  at  table,  nor  the  impres- 
sions received  through  the  eyes  from  the  dishes  on  the  table, 
are  excluded  from  the  mind  by  the  accompanying  tactual  feel- 
ings and  tastes  and  smells,  as  much  as  colours  are  excluded  by 
colours,  sounds  by  sounds,  tastes  by  tastes,  or  one  tactual  feeling 
by  another.  Of  sensations  arising  within  the  body,  and  still 
more  of  emotions,  it  may  be  said  that,  unless  intense,  they  dis- 
turb but  slightly  the  sensations  otherwise  arising.  It  would 
almost  seem  as  though  a  sensation  of  colour,  a  sensation  of 
sound,  and  a  pleasurable  emotion  produced  by  the  sound, 
admit  of  being  superposed  in  consciousness  with  but  little  mu- 
tual obscuration.  Doubtless  in  most  cases  two  simple  feelings, 
or  two  clustered  feelings  of  different  orders,  put  bounds  to  one 
another  in  time  if  not  in  space:  there  is  an  extremely  rapid 
extrusion  of  each  by  the  other  rather  than  a  continuous  pres- 
ence of  either.  But  it  is  manifest  that  these  alternating  ex- 
trusions, partial  or  complete,  by  feeUngs  of  different  orders,  are 
less  distinct  than  the  extrusion  of  one  another  by  feelings  of  the 
same  order. 

It  is  a  correlative  truth  that  feelings  of  different  orders  cohere 
with  one  another  less  strongly  than  do  feelings  of  the  same 
order.  The  impressions  which  make  up  the  visual  conscious- 
ness of  an  object,  hang  together  more  firmly  than  the  group  of 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   521 

them  does  with  the  group  of  sounds  making  up  the  name  of  the 
object.  The  notes  composing  a  melody  have  a  stronger  ten- 
dency to  drag  one  another  into  consciousness  than  any  one,  or 
all  of  them,  have  to  drag  into  consciousness  the  sights  along 
with  which  they  occurred:  these  last  may  or  may  not  cohere 
with  them;  but  the  following  of  one  note  by  the  next  is  often 
difi&cult  to  prevent.  Similarly,  though  there  is  considerable 
cohesion  between  the  visual  sensations  produced  by  an  orange 
and  the  taste  or  smell  of  the  orange,  yet  it  is  quite  usual  to  have 
a  visual  consciousness  of  an  orange  without  its  taste  or  its  smell 
arising  in  consciousness;  while  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  have 
before  the  mind  one  of  its  apparent  characters  unaccompanied 
by  other  apparent  characters. 

A  further  fact  of  moment  must  be  added.  The  feeUngs  of 
dififerent  orders  which  enter  into  definite  relations  and  cohere 
most  strongly,  are  those  among  which  there  is  a  predominance 
of  the  relational  elements;  and  there  is  an  especial  facility  of 
combination  between  those  feelings  of  different  orders  which 
are  respectively  held  together  by  relations  of  the  same  order. 
Thus  the  co-existent  visual  feelings,  most  relational  of  all,  enter 
into  very  definite  and  coherent  relations  with  co-existent  tact- 
ful feelings.  To  the  group  of  lights  and  shades  an  object  yields 
to  the  eyes,  there  attaches  itself  very  strongly  the  group  of  im- 
pressions produced  by  touching  and  grasping  the  object.  Next 
in  order  of  strength  are  the  connections  between  sensations 
received  through  the  eyes  and  those  received  through  the  ears ; 
or  rather  —  between  clusters  of  the  one  and  clusters  of  the 
other.  But  though  the  feelings  clustered  in  co-existence  that 
form  the  visual  consciousness  of  anything,  are  linked  with 
much  strength  to  the  feelings  clustered  in  sequence  that  form 
the  consciousness  of  its  name;  yet,  probably  because  the  feelings 
forming  the  one  cluster  not  only  differ  in  kind  from  those  form- 
ing the  other  but  are  held  together  by  relations  of  a  different 
order,  the  cohesion  of  the  two  clusters  is  not  so  strong.  As  we 
descend  towards  the  unrelational  feelings  we  find  that  this  com- 
bining power  of  class  with  class  decreases.  Between  tastes  and 
smells  and  certain  visceral  sensations,  such  as  hunger  and 


522  HERBERT  SPENCER 

nausea,  there  is,  indeed,  a  considerable  aptitude  to  cohere. 
But  after  admitting  exceptions,  it  remains  true  on  the  average 
that  the  extremely  im-relational  states  of  consciousness  of 
different  orders,  connect  but  feebly  with  one  another  and  with 
the  extremely-relational  states  of  consciousness. 

§  73,  Thus  far  we  have  proceeded  as  though  Mind  were 
composed  entirely  of  the  primary  or  vivid  feelings,  and  the 
relations  among  them;  ignoring  the  secondary  or  faint  feelings. 
Or  if,  as  must  be  admitted,  there  has  been  a  tacit  recognition  of 
these  secondary  feelings  in  parts  of  the  foregoing  sections  which 
deal  with  the  relations  and  cohesions  of  feelings  in  sequence 
(since  in  a  sequence  of  feelings  those  which  have  passed  have 
become  faint,  and  only  the  one  present  is  vivid) ;  yet  there  has 
been  no  avowed  recognition  of  them  as  components  of  Mind 
different  from,  though  closely  allied  with,  the  primary  feelings. 
We  must  now  specially  consider  them  and  the  part  they  play. 

The  cardinal  fact  to  be  noted  as  of  co-ordinate  importance 
with  the  facts  above  noted,  is  that  while  each  vivid  feeb'ng  is 
joined  to,  but  distinguished  from,  other  vivid  feelings,  simul- 
taneous or  successive,  it  is  joined  to,  and  identified  with,  faint 
feelings  that  have  resulted  from  foregoing  similar  vivid  feelings. 
Each  particular  colour,  each  special  sound,  each  sensation  of 
touch,  taste,  or  smell,  is  at  once  known  as  unlike  other  sensa- 
tions that  limit  it  in  space  or  time,  and  known  as  like  the  faint 
forms  of  certain  sensations  that  have  preceded  it  in  time  -^ 
unites  itself  with  foregoing  sensations  from  which  it  does  not 
differ  in  quality  but  only  in  intensity. 

On  this  law  of  composition  depends  the  orderly  structure  of 
Mind.  In  its  absence  there  could  be  nothing  but  a  perpetual 
kaleidoscopic  change  of  feelings  —  an  ever-transforming  pre- 
sent without  past  or  future.  It  is  because  of  this  tendency 
which  vivid  feelings  have  severally  to  cohere  with  the  faint 
forms  of  all  preceding  feelings  like  themselves,  that  there  arise 
what  we  call  ideas.  A  vivid  feeling  does  not  by  itself  constitute 
a  unit  of  that  aggregate  of  ideas  entitled  knowledge.  Nor  does 
a  single  faint  feeling  constitute  such  a  unit.  But  an  idea,  or  unit 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   523 

of  knowledge,  results  when  a  vivid  feeling  is  assimilated  to,  or 
coheres  with,  one  or  more  of  the  faint  feelings  left  by  such  vivid 
feelings  previously  experienced.  From  moment  to  moment  the 
feelings  that  constitute  consciousness  segregate  —  each  be- 
coming fused  with  the  whole  series  of  others  hke  itself  that  have 
gone  before  it ;  and  what  we  call  knowing  each  feeling  as  such  or 
such,  is  our  name  for  this  act  of  segregation. 

The  process  so  carried  on  does  not  stop  with  the  union  of 
each  feeling,  as  it  occurs,  with  the  faint  forms  of  all  preceding 
like  feelings.  Clusters  of  feelings  are  simultaneously  Joined 
with  the  faint  forms  preceding  like  clusters.  An  idea  of  an  ob- 
ject or  act  is  composed  of  groups  of  similar  and  similarly- 
related  feelings  that  have  arisen  in  consciousness  from  time 
to  time,  and  have  formed  a  consolidated  series  of  which  the 
members  have  partially  or  completely  lost  their  individuali- 
ties. 

This  union  of  present  clustered  feelings  with  past  clustered 
feelings  is  carried  to  a  much  greater  degree  of  complexity. 
Groups  of  groups  coalesce  with  kindred  groups  of  groups  that 
preceded  them;  and  in  the  higher  types  of  Mind,  tracts  of  con- 
sciousness of  an  excessively  composite  character  are  produced 
after  the  same  manner. 

To  complete  this  general  conception  it  is  needful  to  say  that 
as  with  feelings,  so  with  the  relations  between  feelings.  Parted 
so  far  as  may  be  from  the  particular  pairs  of  feelings  and  pairs 
of  groups  of  feelings  they  severally  unite,  relations  themselves 
are  perpetually  segregated.  From  moment  to  moment  relations 
are  distinguished  from  one  another  in  respect  of  the  degrees  of 
contrast  between  their  terms  and  the  kinds  of  contrast  between 
their  terms;  and  each  relation,  while  distinguished  from  various 
concurrent  relations,  is  assimilated  to  previously-experienced 
relations  hke  itself.  Thus  result  ideas  of  relations  as  those  of 
strong  contrast  or  weak  contrast,  of  descending  intensity  or 
ascending  intensity,  of  homogeneity  of  kind  or  heterogeneity  of 
kind.  Simultaneously  occurs  a  segregation  of  a  different  species. 
Each  relation  of  co-existence  is  classed  with  other  like  relations 
of  co-existence  and  separated  from  relations  of  co-existence  that 


524  HERBERT  SPENCER 

are  unlike  it;  and  a  kindred  classing  goes  on  among  relations  of 
sequence.  Finally,  by  a  further  segregation,  are  formed  that 
consolidated  abstract  of  relations  of  co-existence  which  we 
know  as  Space,  and  that  consolidated  abstract  of  relations  of 
sequence  which  we  know  as  Time.  This  process,  here  briefly 
indicated  merely  to  show  its  congruity  with  the  general  process 
of  composition,  cannot  be  explained  at  length :  the  elucidation 
must  come  hereafter. 

§  74.  And  now  having  roughly  sketched  the  composition  of 
Mind  —  having,  to  preserve  clearness  of  outline,  omitted  de- 
tails and  passed  over  minor  qualifications;  let  me  go  on  to  indi- 
cate the  essential  truth  which  it  is  a  chief  purpose  of  this  chap- 
ter to  bring  into  view  —  the  truth  that  the  method  of  comp>osi- 
tion  remains  the  same  throughout  the  entire  fabric  of  Mind 
from  the  formation  of  its  simplest  feelings  up  to  the  formation 
of-  those  immense  and  complex  aggregates  of  feelings  which 
characterize  its  highest  developments. 

In  the  last  chapter  we  saw  that  what  is  objectively  a  wave  of 
molecular  change  propagated  through  a  nerve-centre,  is  sub- 
jectively a  unit  of  feeling,  akin  in  nature  to  what  we  call  a  nerv- 
ous shock.  In  one  case  we  found  conclusive  proof  that  when  a 
rapid  succession  of  such  waves  yield  a  rapid  succession  of  such 
units  of  feeling,  there  results  the  continuous  feeling  known  as  a 
sensation;  and  that  the  quality  of  the  feeling  changes  when 
these  waves  and  corresponding  units  of  feeling  recur  with  a  dif- 
ferent rapidity.  Further,  it  was  shown  that  by  unions  among 
simultaneous  series  of  such  units  recurring  at  unlike  rates, 
countless  other  seemingly-simple  sensations  are  produced.  And 
we  inferred  that  what  unquestionably  holds  among  these 
primary  feelings  of  one  order,  probably  holds  among  primary 
feelings  of  all  orders.  To  what  does  this  conclusion  amount, 
expressed  in  another  way?  It  amounts  to  the  conclusion  that 
one  of  these  feelings  which,  as  introspectively  contemplated, 
appears  uniform,  is  really  generated  by  the  perpetual  assimila- 
tion of  a  new  pulse  of  feeling  to  pulses  of  feeling  immediately 
preceding  it :  the  sensation  is  constituted  by  the  linking  of  each 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   525 

vivid  pulse  as  it  occurs,  with  the  series  of  past  pulses  that  were 
severally  vivid  but  have  severally  become  faint.  And  what, 
otherwise  stated,  is  the  conclusion  that  compound  sensations 
result  from  unions  among  different  concurrent  series  of  such 
pulses?  It  is  that  while  the  component  pulses  of  each  series  are, 
as  they  occur,  severally  assimilated  to,  or  linked  with,  preced- 
ing pulses  of  their  own  kind,  they  are  also  severally  combined 
in  some  relation  with  the  pulses  of  concurrent  series;  and  the 
compound  sensation  so  generated  is  known  as  different  from 
other  compound  sensations  of  the  same  order,  by'  virtue  of 
some  speciality  in  the  relations  among  the  concurrent  series. 

Consider  now,  under  its  most  general  form,  the  process  of 
composition  of  Mind  described  in  foregoing  sections.  It  is  no 
other  than  this  same  process  carried  out  on  higher  and  higher 
platforms,  with  increasing  extent  and  complication.  As  we 
have  lately  seen,  the  feeUngs  called  sensations  cannot  of  them- 
selves constitute  Mind,  even  when  great  numbers  of  various 
kinds  are  present  together.  Mind  is  constituted  only  when  each 
sensation  is  assimilated  to  the  faint  forms  of  antecedent-like 
sensations.  The  consolidation  of  successive  units  of  feeling  to 
form  a  sensation,  is  paralleled  in  a  larger  way  by  the  consolida- 
tion of  successive  sensations  to  form  what  we  call  a  knowledge 
of  the  sensation  as  such  or  such  —  to  form  the  smallest  separa- 
ble portion  of  what  we  call  thought,  as  distinguished  from  mere 
confused  sentiency.  So  too  is  it  with  the  relations  among  those 
feelings  that  occur  together  and  limit  one  another  in  space  or 
time.  Each  of  these  relations,  so  long  as  it  stands  alone  in  expe- 
rience with  no  antecedent  like  relations,  is  not  fully  cognizable 
as  a  relation:  it  assumes  its  character  as  a  component  of  intelli- 
gence only  when,  by  recurrence  of  it,  there  is  produced  a  serial 
aggregate  of  such  relations.  Observe  further  that  while 

each  special  sensation  is  raised  into  a  proixmate  constituent  of 
simple  thought  only  by  being  fused  with  like  predecessors,  it 
becomes  a  proximate  constituent  of  compound  thought  by 
simultaneously  entering  into  relations  of  unlikeness  with  other 
sensations  which  limit  it  in  space  or  time;  just  as  we  saw  that 
the  units  or  pulses  that  form  simple  sensations  by  serial  union 


526  HERBERT  SPENCER 

with  their  kind,  may  simultaneously  help  to  form  complex  sen- 
sations by  entering  into  relations  of  difference  with  units  of 
other  kinds.  The  same  thing  obviously  holds  of  the  relations 
themselves,  that  exist  between  these  unlike  sensations.  And 
thus  it  becomes  manifest  that  the  method  by  which  simple  sen- 
sations, and  the  relations  among  them,  are  compounded  into 
states  of  definite  consciousness,  is  essentially  analogous  to  the 
method  by  which  primitive  units  of  feeling  are  compounded  into 
sensations. 

The  next  higher  stage  of  mental  composition  shows  us  this 
process  repeating  itself.  The  vivid  cluster  of  related  sensations 
produced  in  us  by  a  special  object,  has  to  be  united  with  the 
faint  forms  of  clusters  like  it  that  have  been  before  produced 
by  such  objects.  What  we  call  knowing  the  object,  is  the  as- 
similation of  this  combined  group  of  real  feelings  it  excites, 
with  one  or  more  preceding  ideal  groups  which  objects  of  the 
same  kind  once  excited ;  and  the  knowledge  is  clear  only  when 
the  series  of  ideal  groups  is  long.  Equally  does  this 

principle  hold  of  the  connexions,  static  and  dynamic,  between 
each  such  special  cluster  and  the  special  clusters  generated  by 
other  objects.  Knowledge  of  the  powers  and  habits  of  things, 
dead  and  living,  is  constituted  by  assimilating  the  more  or  less 
complex  relations  exhibited  by  their  actions  in  space  and  time 
with  other  such  complex  relations.  If  we  cannot  so  assimilate 
them,  or  parts  of  them,  we  have  no  knowledge  of  their  actions. 

That  the  same  law  of  composition  continues  without  definite 
limit  through  tracts  of  higher  consciousness,  formed  of  clusters 
of  clusters  of  feelings  held  together  by  relations  of  an  extremely 
involved  kind,  scarcely  needs  adding. 

§  75.  How  clearly  the  evolution  of  Mind,  as  thus  traced 
through  ascending  stages  of  composition,  conforms  to  the  laws 
of  Evolution  in  general,  will  be  seen  as  soon  as  it  is  said.  We 
will  glance  at  the  correspondence  under  each  of  its  leading 
aspects. 

Evolution  is  primarily  a  progressing  integration;  and 
throughout  this  chapter,  as  well  as  the  last,  progressing  inte- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   527 

gration  has  thrust  itself  upon  us  as  the  fundamental  fact  in 
mental  evolution.  We  came  upon  it  quite  unexpectedly  in  the 
conclusion  that  a  sensation  is  .an  integrated  series  of  nervous 
shocks  or  units  of  feeling;  and  in  the  further  conclusion  that  by- 
integration  of  two  or  more  such  series,  compound  sensations  are 
formed.  We  have  lately  seen  that  by  an  integration  of  succes- 
sive like  sensations,  there  arises  the  knowledge  of  a  sensation 
as  such  or  such ;  and  that  each  sensation  as  it  occurs,  while 
thus  integrated  with  its  like,  also  unites  into  an  aggregate  with 
other  sensations  that  limit  it  in  space  or  time.  And  we  have 
similarly  seen  that  the  integrated  clusters  resulting,  enter  into 
higher  integrations  of  both  these  kinds;  and  so  on  to  the 
end.  The  significance  of  these  facts  will  be  appreciated 

when  it  is  remembered  that  the  tracts  of  consciousness  in 
which  integration  is  undecided,  are  tracts  of  consciousness 
hardly  included  in  what  we  commonly  think  of  as  Mind ;  and 
that  the  tracts  of  consciousness  presenting  the  attributes  of 
Mind  in  the  highest  degree,  are  those  in  which  the  integration 
is  carried  furthest.  Hunger,  thirst,  nausea,  and  visceral  feelings 
in  general,  as  well  as  feelings  of  love,  hatred,  anger,  &c.,  which 
cohere  httle  with  one  another  and  with  other  feelings,  and  thus 
integrate  but  feebly  into  groups,  are  portions  of  consciousness 
that  play  but  subordinate  parts  in  the  actions  we  chiefly  class  as 
mental.  Mental  actions,  ordinarily  so  called,  are  nearly  all 
carried  on  in  terms  of  those  tactual,  auditory,  and  visual  feel- 
ings, which  exhibit  cohesion,  and  consequent  ability  to  inte- 
grate, in  so  conspicuous  a  manner.  Our  intellectual  operations 
are  indeed  mostly  confined  to  the  auditory  feelings  (as  inte- 
grated into  words)  and  the  visual  feelings  (as  integrated  into 
impressions  and  ideas  of  objects,  their  relations,  and  their 
motions) .  After  closing  the  eyes  and  observing  how  relatively- 
immense  is  the  part  of  intellectual  consciousness  that  is  sud- 
denly shorn  away,  it  will  be  manifest  that  the  most  developed 
portion  of  perceptive  Mind  is  formed  of  these  visual  feelings 
which  cohere  so  rigidly,  which  integrate  into  such  large  and  nu- 
merous aggregates,  and  which  re-integrate  into  aggregates  im- 
mensely exceeding  in  their  degree  of  composition  all  aggregates 


528  HERBERT  SPENCER 

formed  by  other  feelings.  And  then,  on  rising  to  what  we  for 
convenience  distinguish  as  rational  Mind,  we  find  the  integra- 
tion taking  a  still  wider  reach. 

The  ascending  phases  of  Mind  show  us  no  less  conspicu- 
ously, the  increasing  heterogeneity  of  these  integrated  aggre- 
gates of  feelings.  In  the  last  chapter,  we  saw  how  sensations 
that  are  all  composed  of  units  of  one  kind,  are  rendered  hetero- 
geneous by  the  combination  and  re-combination  of  such  units 
in  multitudinous  ways.  We  have  lately  seen  that  the  portions 
of  consciousness  occupied  by  the  internal  bodily  feelings  and  by 
the  emotions,  are,  as  judged  by  introspection,  relatively  very 
simple  or  homogeneous:  thirst  is  not  made  up  of  contrasted 
parts,  nor  can  we  separate  a  gust  of  passion  into  many  distin- 
guishable components.  But  on  passing  upwards  to  intellectual 
consciousness,  there  meets  us  an  increasing  variety  of  kinds  of 
feelings  present  together.  When  we  come  to  the  auditory  feel- 
ings, which  play  so  important  a  part  in  processes  of  thought, 
we  find  that  the  groups  of  them  are  formed  of  many  compon- 
ents, and  that  those  groups  of  groups  used  as  symbols  of  pro- 
positions are  very  heterogeneous.  As  before  however  with 
integration,  so  where  with  heterogeneity,  a  far  higher  degree  is 
reached  in  that  consciousness  formed  of  visual  feelings,  which 
is  the  most  developed  part  of  perceptive  Mind.  And  much 
more  heterogeneous  still  are  those  tracts  of  consciousness  dis- 
tinguished as  ratiocinative  tracts,  in  which  the  multiform 
feelings  given  us  by  objects  through  eyes,  ears,  and  tactual 
organs,  nose,  and  palate,  are  formed  into  conceptions  that 
answer  to  the  objects  in  all  their  attributes,  and  all  their 
activities. 

With  equal  clearness  does  Mind  display  the  further  trait  of 
Evolution  —  increase  of  definiteness.  Both  the  centrally- 
initiated  feelings  and  the  internal  peripherally-initiated  feel- 
ings, which  play  so  secondary  a  part  in  what  we  understand 
as  Mind,  we  found  to  be  very  vague  —  very  imperfectly  Um- 
ited  by  one  another.  Contrariwise,  it  was  shown  that  the 
mutual  limitations  are  decided  among  those  peripherally- 
initiated  feelings  which,  arising  on  the  outer  surface,  enter 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY   529 

largely  into  our  intellectual  operations;  and  that  the  visual 
feelings,  which  enter  by  far  the  most  largely  into  our  intel- 
lectual operations,  are  not  only  by  far  the  sharpest  in  their 
mutual  limitations,  but  form  aggregates  that  are  much  more 
definitely  circumscribed  than  any  others,  and  aggregates  be- 
tween which  there  exist  relations  much  more  definite  than 
those  entered  into  by  other  aggregates. 

Thus  the  conformity  is  complete.  Mind  rises  to  what  are 
universally  recognized  as  its  higher  developments,  in  propor- 
tion as  it  manifests  the  traits  characterizing  Evolution  in  gen- 
eral {First  Principles,  §§  98-145).  A  confused  sentiency, 
formed  of  recurrent  pulses  of  feehng  having  but  little  variety 
of  kind  and  but  little  combination,  we  may  conceive  as  the 
nascent  Mind  possessed  by  those  low  types  in  which  nerves  and 
nerve-centres  are  not  yet  clearly  differentiated  from  one  an- 
other, or  from  the  tissues  in  which  they  lie.  At  a  stage  above 
this,  while  yet  the  organs  of  the  higher  senses  are  rudimentary 
and  such  nerves  as  exist  are  incompletely  insulated,  Mind  is 
present  probably  under  the  form  of  a  few  sensations,  which,  like 
those  yielded  by  our  own  viscera,  are  simple,  vague,  and  inco- 
herent. And  from  this  upwards,  the  mental  evolution  exhibits 
a  differentiation  of  these  simple  feehngs  into  the  more  numer- 
ous kinds  which  the  special  senses  yield;  an  ever-increasing 
integration  of  such  more  varied  feelings  with  one  another  and 
with  feelings  of  other  kinds;  an  ever-increasing  multiformity  in 
the  aggregates  of  feelings  produced ;  and  an  ever-increasing  dis- ' 
tinctness  of  structure  in  such  aggregates.  That  is  to  say,  there 
goes  on  subjectively  a  change  "from  an  indefinite,  incoherent 
homogeneity  to  a  definite,  coherent  heterogeneity;"  parallel  to 
that  redistribution  of  matter  and  motion  which  constitutes 
Evolution  as  objectively  displayed. 


JOHANNES  MUELLER 

(1801-1858) 

ELEMENTS  OF  PHYSIOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  German  *  hy 
WILLIAM    BALY 

BOOK  V.    OF  THE  SENSES 
The  General  Laws  of  Sensation 

The  senses,  by  virtue  of  the  peculiar  properties  of  their 
several  nerves,  make  us  acquainted  with  the  states  of  our  own 
body,  and  they  also  inform  us  of  the  qualities  and  changes  of 
external  nature,  as  far  as  these  give  rise  to  changes  in  the  condi- 
tion of  the  nerves.  Sensation  is  a  property  common  to  all  the 
senses;  but  the  kind  {"modus,'')  of  sensation  is  diflferent  in 
each:  thus  we  have  the  sensations  of  light,  of  sound,  of  taste,  of 
smell,  and  of  feeling,  or  touch.  By  feeling,  or  touch,  we  under- 
stand the  peculiar  kind  of  sensation  of  which  the  ordinary  sen- 
sitive nerves  generally  —  as,  the  nervus  trigeminus,  vagus, 
glosso-pharyngeus,  and  the  spinal  nerves,  —  are  susceptible; 
the  sensations  of  itching,  of  pleasure  and  pain,  of  heat  and  cold, 
and  those  excited  by  the  act  of  touch  in  its  more  limited  sense, 
are  varieties  of  this  mode  of  sensation.  That  which  through  the 
medium  of  our  senses  is  actually  perceived  by  the  sensorium,  is 
indeed  merely  a  property  or  change  of  condition  of  our  nerves; 
but  the  imagination  and  reason  are  ready  to  interpret  the  modi- 
fications in  the  state  of  the  nerves  produced  by  external  influ- 
ences as  properties  of  the  external  bodies  themselves.    This 

*  From  J.  Miiller's  Handhuch  der  Physiologie  des  Menschen  fiir  Vortesungen, 
2  Bde.  Coblenz,  1834-40.  Reprinted  from  J.  Miiller's  Elements  of  Physiology, 
translated  by  William  Baly.  London,  1837-42,  vol.  11. 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         531 

mode  of  regarding  sensations  has  become  so  habitual  in  the  case 
of  the  senses  which  are  more  rarely  affected  by  internal  causes, 
that  it  is  only  on  reflection  that  we  perceive  it  to  be  erroneous. 
In  the  case  of  the  sense  of  feeling  or  touch,  on  the  contrary, 
where  the  pecuUar  sensations  of  the  nerves  perceived  by  the 
sensorium  are  excited  as  frequently  by  internal  as  by  external 
causes,  it  is  easily  conceived  that  the  feeling  of  pain  or  pleasure, 
for  example,  is  a  condition  of  the  nerves,  and  not  a  property  of 
the  things  which  excite  it.  This  leads  us  to  the  consideration  of 
some  general  laws,  a  knowledge  of  which  is  necessary  before 
entering  on  the  physiology  of  the  separate  senses. 

I.  In  the  first  place,  it  must  be  kept  in  mind  that  external 
agencies  can  give  rise  to  no  kind  of  sensation  which  cannot  also  be 
produced  by  internal  causes,  exciting  changes  in  the  condition  of 
our  nerves. 

In  the  case  of  the  sense  of  touch,  this  is  at  once  evident.  The 
sensations  of  the  nerves  of  touch  (or  common  sensibility)  are 
those  of  cold  and  heat,  pain  and  pleasure,  and  innumerable 
modifications  of  these,  which  are  neither  painful  nor  pleasur- 
able, but  yet  have  the  same  kind  of  sensation  as  their  element, 
though  not  in  an  extreme  degree.  All  these  sensations  are  con- 
stantly being  produced  by  internal  causes  in  all  parts  of  our 
body  endowed  with  sensitive  nerves;  they  may  also  be  excited 
by  causes  acting  from  without,  but  external  agencies  are  not 
capable  of  adding  any  new  element  to  their  nature.  The  sensa- 
tions of  the  nerves  of  touch  are  therefore  states  or  qualities 
proper  to  themselves,  and  merely  rendered  manifest  by  exciting 
causes  external  or  internal.  The  sensation  of  smell  also  may  be 
perceived  independently  of  the  application  of  any  odorous  sub- 
stance from  without,  the  nerve  of  smell  being  thrown  by  an  in- 
ternal cause  into  the  condition  requisite  for  the  production  of 
the  sensation.  This  perception  of  the  sensation  of  odours  with- 
out an  external  exciting  cause,  though  not  of  frequent  occur- 
rence, has  been  many  times  observed  in  persons  of  an  irritable 
nervous  system ;  and  the  sense  of  taste  is  probably  subject  to  the 
same  affection,  although  it  would  be  always  difficult  to  deter- 
mine whether  the  taste  might  not  be  owing  to  a  change  in  the 


532  JOHANNES  MUELLER 

qualities  of  the  saliva  or  mucus  of  the  mouth;  the  sensation  of 
nausea,  however,  which  belongs  to  the  sensations  of  taste,  is 
certainly  very  often  perceived  as  the  result  of  a  merely  internal 
affection  of  the  nerves.  The  sensations  of  the  sense  of  vision, 
namely,  colour,  Hght,  and  darkness,  are  also  perceived  inde- 
pendently of  all  external  exciting  cause.  In  the  state  of  the 
most  perfect  freedom  from  excitement,  the  optic  nerve  has  no 
other  sensation  than  that  of  darkness.  The  excited  condition 
of  the  nerve  is  manifested,  even  while  the  eyes  are  closed,  by  the 
appearance  of  Hght,  or  luminous  flashes,  which  are  mere  sensa- 
tions of  the  nerve,  and  not  owing  to  the  presence  of  any  matter 
of  light,  and  consequently  are  not  capable  of  illuminating  any 
surrounding  objects.  Every  one  is  aware  how  common  it  is  to 
see  bright  colours  while  the  eyes  are  closed,  particularly  in  the 
morning  when  the  irritabiUty  of  the  nerves  is  still  considerable. 
These  phenomena  are  very  frequent  in  children  after  waking 
from  sleep.  Through  the  sense  of  vision,  therefore,  we  receive 
from  external  nature  no  impressions  which  we  may  not  also 
experience  from  internal  excitement  of  our  nerves;  and  it  is 
evident  that  a  person  blind  from  infancy  in  consequence  of 
opacity  of  the  transparent  media  of  the  eye,  must  have  a  per- 
fect internal  conception  of  light  and  colours,  provided  the  retina 
and  optic  nerve  be  free  from  lesion.  The  prevalent  notions  with 
regard  to  the  wonderful  sensations  supposed  to  be  experienced 
by  persons  blind  from  birth  when  their  sight  is  restored  by  oper- 
ation, are  exaggerated  and  incorrect.  The  elements  of  the  sen- 
sation of  vision,  namely,  the  sensations  of  light,  colour,  and 
darkness,  must  have  been  previously  as  well  known  to  such 
persons  as  to  those  of  whom  the  sight  has  always  been  perfect. 
If,  moreover,  we  imagine  a  man  to  be  from  his  birth  surrounded 
merely  by  external  objects  destitute  of  all  variety  of  colours,  so 
that  he  could  never  receive  the  impressions  of  colours  from 
without,  it  is  evident  that  the  sense  of  vision  might  neverthe- 
less have  been  no  less  perfect  in  him  than  in  other  men;  for 
light  and  colours  are  innate  endowments  of  his  nature,  and 
require  merely  a  stimulus  to  render  them  manifest. 
The  sensations  of  hearing  also  are  excited  as  well  by  internal 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         533 

as  by  external  causes;  for,  whenever  the  auditory  nerve  is  in  a 
state  of  excitement,  the  sensations  peculiar  to  it,  as  the  sounds 
of  ringing,  humming,  &c.  are  perceived.  It  is  by  such  sensations 
that  the  diseases  of  the  auditory  nerve  manifest  themselves; 
and,  even  in  less  grave,  transient  affections  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem, the  sensations  of  humming  and  ringing  in  the  ears  afford 
evidence  that  the  sense  of  hearing  participates  in  the  disturb- 
ance. 

No  further  proof  is  wanting  to  show,  that  external  influences 
give  rise  in  our  senses  to  no  other  sensations,  than  those  which 
may  be  excited  in  the  corresponding  nerves  by  internal  causes. 

II.  The  same  internal  cause  excites  in  the  different  senses  dif- 
ferent sensations;  —  in  each  sense  the  sensations  peculiar  to  it. 

One  uniform  internal  cause  acting  on  all  the  nerves  of  the 
senses  in  the  same  manner,  is  the  accumulation  of  blood  in  the 
capillary  vessels  of  the  nerve,  as  in  congestion  and  inflamma- 
tion. This  uniform  cause  excites  in  the  retina,  while  the  eyes 
are  closed,  the  sensation  of  light  and  luminous  flashes;  in  the 
auditory  nerve,  humming  and  ringing  sounds;  and  in  the 
nerves  of  feeling,  the  sensation  of  pain.  In  the  same  way,  also, 
a  narcotic  substance  introduced  into  the  blood  excites  in  the 
nerves  of  each  sense  peculiar  symptoms;  in  the  optic  nerves  the 
appearance  of  luminous  sparks  before  the  eyes;  in  the  auditory 
nerves,  "  tinnitus  aurium;"  and  in  the  common  sensitive  nerves 
the  sensation  of  ants  creeping  over  the  surface. 

III.  The  same  external  cause  also  gives  rise  to  different  sensa- 
tions in  each  sense,  according  to  the  special  endowments  of  its 
nerve. 

The  mechanical  influence  of  a  blow,  concussion,  or  pressure 
excites,  for  example,  in  the  eye  the  sensation  of  light  and 
colours.  It  is  well  known  that  by  exerting  pressure  upon  the 
eye,  when  the  eyelids  are  closed,  we  can  give  rise  to  the  appear- 
ance of  a  luminous  circle ;  by  more  gentle  pressure  the  appear- 
ance of  colours  may  be  produced,  and  one  colour  may  be  made 
to  change  to  another.  Children,  waking  from  sleep  before  day- 
light, frequently  amuse  themselves  with  these  phenomena.  The 
light  thus  produced  has  no  existence  external  to  the  optic  nerve, 


534  '  JOHANNES  MUELLER 

it  is  merely  a  sensation  excited  in  it.  However  strongly  we  press 
upon  the  eye  in  the  dark,  so  as  to  give  rise  to  the  appearance  of 
luminous  flashes,  these  flashes,  being  merely  sensations,  are 
incapable  of  illuminating  external  objects.  Of  this  any  one  may 
easily  convince  himself  by  experiment.  I  have  in  repeated  trials 
never  been  able,  by  means  of  these  luminous  flashes  in  the  eye, 
to  recognise  in  the  dark  the  nearest  objects,  or  to  see  them  bet- 
ter than  before;  nor  could  another  person,  while  I  produced  by 
pressure  on  my  eye  the  appearance  of  brilliant  flashes,  perceive 
in  it  the  slightest  trace  of  real  light. 

A  mechanical  influence  excites  also  peculiar  sensations  of  the 
auditory  nerve ;  at  all  events,  it  has  become  a  common  saying, 
"  to  give  a  person  what  will  make  his  ears  ring,"  or  "  what  will 
make  his  eyes  flash  fire,"  or  "what  will  make  him  feel  ";  so  that 
the  same  cause,  a  blow,  produces  in  the  nerves  of  hearing, 
sight,  and  feeling,  the  different  sensations  proper  to  these 
senses.  It  has  not  become  a  part  of  common  language  that  a 
blow  shall  be  given  which  will  excite  the  sense  of  smell,  or  of 
taste;  nor  would  such  sayings  be  correct;  yet  mechanical  irri- 
tation of  the  soft  palate,  of  the  epiglottis  and  root  of  the  tongue, 
excites  the  sensation  of  nausea.  The  actions  of  sonorous  bodies 
on  the  organ  of  hearing  is  entirely  mechanical.  A  sudden  me- 
chanical impulse  of  the  air  upon  the  organ  of  hearing  produces 
the  sensation  of  a  report  of  different  degrees  of  intensity  accord- 
ing to  the  violence  of  the  impulse,  just  as  an  impulse  upon  thi 
organ  of  vision  gives  rise  to  the  sensation  of  light.  If  the  action 
of  the  mechanical  cause  on  the  organ  of  hearing  be  of  continued 
duration,  the  sound  is  also  continued;  and  when  caused  by  a 
rapid  succession  of  uniform  impulses,  or  vibrations,  it  has  a 
musical  character.  If  we  admit  that  the  matter  of  light  acts  on 
bodies  by  mechanical  oscillation  (the  undulation  theory),  we 
shall  have  another  example  of  a  mechanical  influence,  producing 
different  effects  on  different  senses.  These  undulations,  which 
produce  in  the  eye  the  sensation  of  light,  have  no  such  effects 
on  other  senses;  but  in  the  nerves  of  feeling  they  produce  the 
sensation  of  warmth. 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         535 

The  stimulus  of  electricity  may  serve  as  a  second  example,  of  a 
uniform  cause  giving  rise  in  different  nerves  of  sense  to  different 
sensations.  A  single  pair  of  plates  of  different  metals  applied  so 
as  to  include  the  eye  within  the  circle,  excites  the  sensation  of  a 
bright  flash  of  light  when  the  person  experimented  upon  is  in  a 
dark  room;  and,  even  though  the  eye  do  not  lie  within  the  cir- 
cle, if  it  be  not  distant  from  it,  —  as,  for  example,  when  one  of 
the  plates  is  applied  to  one  of  the  eyelids,  and  the  other  to  the 
interior  of  the  mouth,  —  the  same  effect  will  be  produced, 
owing  to  a  part  of  the  current  of  electricity  being  diverted  to  the 
eye.  A  more  intense  electric  stimulus  gives  rise  to  more  intense 
sensations  of  light.  In  the  organ  of  hearing,  electricity  excites 
the  sensation  of  sound.  Volta  states  that,  while  his  ears  were 
included  between  the  poles  of  a  battery  of  forty  pairs  of  plates, 
he  heard  a  hissing  and  pulsatory  sound,  which  continued  as  long 
as  the  circle  was  closed.*  Ritter  perceived  a  sound  like  that  of 
the  fiddle  G  at  the  moment  of  the  closure  of  the  galvanic  circle. 

The  electricity  of  friction,  developed  by  the  electrical  ma- 
chine, excites  in  the  olfactory  nerves  the  odour  of  phosphorus. 
The  appUcation  of  plates  of  different  metals  to  the  tongue, 
gives  rise  to  an  acid  or  a  saline  taste,  according  to  the  length  of 
the  plates  which  are  applied  one  above,  and  the  other  beneath 
the  tongue.  The  facts  detailed  with  regard  to  the  other  senses 
are  sufficient  to  show  that  these  latter  phenomena  cannot  be 
attributed  to  decomposition  of  the  salts  of  the  saliva. 

The  effects  of  the  action  of  electricity  on  the  nerves  of  com- 
mon sensation  or  feeling,  are  neither  the  sensation  of  light,  of 
sound,  of  smell,  nor  of  taste,  but  those  proper  to  the  nerves  of 
feeling,  namely,  the  sensations  of  pricking,  of  a  blow,  &c. 

Chemical  influences  also  probably  produce  different  effects 
on  different  nerves  of  sense.  We  have,  of  course,  but  few 
facts  illustrating  their  action  on  these  nerves;  but  we  know  that 
in  the  sensitive  nerves  of  the  skin  they  excite  the  different  kinds 
of  common  sensation,  —  as  the  sensations  of  burning,  pain,  and 
heat;  in  the  organ  of  taste,  sensations  of  taste;  and,  when  vola- 
tile, in  the  nerves  of  smell,  the  sensations  of  odours.  Without 
*  Philos.  Transact.  1800,  p.  427. 


536  JOHANNES  MUELLER 

the  infliction  of  great  injury  on  the  textures,  it  is  impossible  to 
apply  chemical  agents  to  the  nerves  of  the  higher  senses,  sight 
and  hearing,  except  through  the  medium  of  the  blood.  Chem- 
ical substances  introduced  into  the  blood  act  on  every  nerve  of 
sense,  and  excite  in  each  a  manifestation  of  its  properties. 
Hence  the  internal  sensations  of  light  and  sound,  which  are  well 
known  to  result  from  the  action  of  narcotics. 

IV.  The  peculiar  sensations  of  each  nerve  of  sense  can  he  excited 
by  several  distinct  causes  internal  and  external. 

The  facts  on  which  this  statement  is  founded  have  been 
already  mentioned ;  for  we  have  seen  that  the  sensation  of  light 
in  the  eye  is  excited: 

1.  By  the  undulations  or  emanations  which  from  their  action 
on  the  eye  are  called  light,  although  they  have  many  other 
actions  than  this;  for  instance,  they  effect  chemical  changes, 
and  are  the  means  of  maintaining  the  organic  processes  in 
plants. 

2.  By  mechanical  influences;  as  concussion,  or  a  blow. 

3.  By  electricity. 

4.  By  chemical  agents,  such  as  narcotics,  digitalis,  &c.  which, 
being  absorbed  into  the  blood,  give  rise  to  the  appearance  of 
luminous  sparks,  &c.  before  the  eyes  independently  of  any 
external  cause. 

5.  By  the  stimulus  of  the  blood  in  the  state  of  congestion. 
The  sensation  of  sound  may  be  excited  in  the  auditory  nerve: 

1.  By  mechanical  influences,  namely,  by  the  vibrations  of 
sonorous  bodies  imparted  to  the  organ  of  hearing  through  the 
intervention  of  media  capable  of  propagating  them. 

2.  By  electricity. 

3.  By  chemical  influences  taken  into  the  circulation;  such  as 
the  narcotics,  or  alterantia  nervina. 

4.  By  the  stimulus  of  the  blood. 

The  sensation  of  odours  may  be  excited  in  the  olfactory 
nerves: 

1.  By  chemical  influences  of  a  volatile  nature,  —  odorous 
substances. 

2.  By  electricity. 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         537 

The  sensation  of  taste  may  be  produced: 

1.  By  chemical  influences  acting  on  the  gustatory  nerves 
either  from  without  or  through  the  medium  of  the  blood;  for, 
according  to  Magendie,  dogs  taste  milk  injected  into  their 
blood-vessels,  and  begin  to  lap  with  their  tongue. 

2.  By  electricity. 

3.  By  mechanical  influences;  for  we  must  refer  to  taste  the 
sensation  of  nausea  produced  by  mechanically  irritating  the 
velum  palati,  epiglottis,  and  root  of  the  tongue. 

The  sensations  of  the  nerves  of  touch  or  feeling  are  excited: 

1.  By  mechanical  influences;  as  sonorous  vibrations,  and 
contact  of  any  kind. 

2.  By  chemical  influences. 

3.  By  heat. 

4.  By  electricity. 

5.  By  the  stimulus  of  the  blood. 

V.  Sensation  consists  in  the  sensorium  receiving  through  the 
medium  of  the  nerves,  and  as  the  result  of  the  action  of  an  external 
cause,  a  knowledge  of  certain  qualities  or  conditions,  not  of  external 
bodies,  hut  of  the  nerves  of  sense  themselves;  and  these  qualities  of 
the  nerves  of  sense  are  in  all  different,  the  nerve  of  each  sense  having 
its  own  peculiar  quality  or  energy. 

The  special  susceptibility  of  the  different  nerves  of  sense  for 
certain  influences,  —  as  of  the  optic  nerve  for  light,  of  the 
auditory  nerve  for  vibrations,  and  so  on,  —  was  formerly 
attributed  to  these  nerves  having  each  a  specific  irritability. 
But  this  hypothesis  is  evidently  insufficient  to  explain  all  the 
facts.  The  nerves  of  the  senses  have  assuredly  a  specific  irri- 
tability for  certain  influences;  for  many  stimuli,  which  exert 
a  violent  action  upon  one  organ  of  sense,  have  little  or  no  effect 
upon  another:  for  example,  light,  or  vibrations  so  infinitely 
rapid  as  those  of  light,  act  only  on  the  nerves  of  vision  and 
common  sensation;  slower  vibrations,  on  the  nerves  of  hearing 
and  common  sensation,  but  not  upon  those  of  vision;  odorous 
substances  only  upon  the  olfactory  nerves.  The  external  stim- 
uli must  therefore  be  adapted  to  the  organ  of  sense  —  must  be 
"homogeneous:"  thus  light  is  the  stimulus  adapted  to  the 


538  JOHANNES  MUELLER 

nerve  of  vision;  while  vibrations  of  less  rapidity,  which  act  upon 
the  auditory  nerve,  are  not  adapted  to  the  optic  nerve,  or  are 
indifferent  to  it;  for  if  the  eye  be  touched  with  a  tuning-fork 
while  vibrating,  a  sensation  of  tremours  is  excited  in  the  con- 
junctiva, but  no  sensation  of  light.  We  have  seen,  however, 
that  one  and  the  same  stimulus,  as  electricity,  will  produce  dif- 
ferent sensations  in  the  different  nerves  of  the  senses;  all  the 
nerves  are  susceptible  of  its  action,  but  the  sensations  in  all  are 
different.  The  same  is  the  case  with  other  stimuli,  as  chemical 
and  mechanical  influences.  The  hypothesis  of  a  specific  irrita- 
bility of  the  nerves  of  the  senses  for  certain  stimuli,  is  therefore 
insufficient;  and  we  are  compelled  to  ascribe,  with  Aristotle,  pe- 
culiar energies  to  each  nerve,  —  energies  which  are  vital  quali- 
ties of  the  nerve,  just  as  contractility  is  the  vital  property  of 
muscle.  The  truth  of  this  has  been  rendered  more  and  more 
evident  in  recent  times  by  the  investigation  of  the  so-called 
"subjective"  phenomena  of  the  senses  by  Elliot,  Darwin,  Rit- 
ter,  Goethe,  Purkinje,  and  Hjort.  Those  phenomena  of  the 
senses,  namely,  are  now  styled  ''  subjective,"  which  are  pro- 
duced, not  by  the  usual  stimulus  adapted  to  the  particular 
nerve  of  sense,  but  by  others  which  do  not  usually  act  upon  it. 
These  important  phenomena  were  long  spoken  of  as  "illusions 
of  the  senses,"  and  have  been  regarded  in  an  erroneous  point  of 
view;  while  they  are  really  true  actions  of  the  senses,  and  must 
be  studied  as  fundamental  phenomena  in  investigations  into 
their  nature. 

The  sensation  of  sound,  therefore,  is  the  peculiar  "energy" 
or  "quality"  of  the  auditory  nerve;  the  sensation  of  Hghtand 
colours  that  of  the  optic  nerve;  and  so  of  the  other  nerves  of 
sense.  An  exact  analysis  of  what  takes  place  in  the  production 
of  a  sensation  would  of  itself  have  led  to  this  conclusion.  The 
sensations  of  heat  and  cold,  for  example,  make  us  acquainted 
with  the  existence  of  the  imponderable  matter  of  caloric,  or  of 
peculiar  vibrations  in  the  vicinity  of  our  nerves  of  feeling.  But 
the  nature  of  this  caloric  cannot  be  elucidated  by  sensation, 
which  is  in  reality  merely  a  particular  state  of  our  nerves;  it 
must  be  learnt  by  the  study  of  the  physical  properties  of  this 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         539 

agent,  namely,  of  the  laws  of  its  radiation,  its  development 
from  the  latent  state,  its  property  of  combining  with  and  pro- 
ducing expansion  of  other  bodies,  &c.  All  this  again,  however, 
does  not  explain  the  peculiarity  of  the  sensation  of  warmth  as 
a  condition  of  the  nerves.  The  simple  fact  devoid  of  all  theory 
is  this,  that  warmth,  as  a  sensation,  is  produced  whenever  the 
matter  of  caloric  acts  upon  the  nerves  of  feeling;  and  that  cold 
as  a  sensation,  results  from  this  matter  of  caloric  being  ab- 
stracted from  a  nerve  of  feeling. 

So,  also,  the  sensation  of  sound  is  produced  when  a  certain 
number  of  impulses  or  vibrations  are  imparted,  within  a  certain 
time,  to  the  auditory  nerve:  but  sound,  as  we  perceive  it,  is  a 
very  different  thing  from  a  succession  of  vibrations.  The  vibra- 
tions of  a  tuning-fork,  which  to  the  ear  give  the  impression  of 
sound,  produce  in  a  nerve  of  feeling  or  touch  the  sensation  of 
tickling;  something  besides  the  vibrations  must  consequently 
be  necessary  for  the  production  of  the  sensation  of  sound,  and 
that  something  is  possessed  by  the  auditory  nerve  alone.  Vision 
is  to  be  regarded  in  the  same  manner.  A  difference  in  the  in- 
tensity of  the  action  of  the  imponderable  agent,  light,  causes  an 
inequality  of  sensation  at  different  parts  of  the  retina:  whether 
this  action  consists  in  impulses  or  undulations,  (the  undulation 
theory,)  or  in  an  infinitely  rapid  current  of  imponderable  mat- 
ter, (the  emanation  theory,)  is  a  question  hereof  no  importance. 
The  sensation  of  moderate  light  is  produced  where  the  action  of 
the  imponderable  agent  on  the  retina  is  not  intense;  of  bright 
light  where  its  action  is  stronger,  and  of  darkness  or  shade 
where  the  imponderable  agent  does  not  fall;  and  thus  results  a 
luminous  image  of  determinate  form  according  to  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  parts  of  the  retina  differently  acted  on.  Colour  is 
also  a  property  of  the  optic  nerve ;  and  when  excited  by  external 
light,  arises  from  the  peculiarity  of  the  so-called  coloured  rays, 
or  of  the  oscillations  necessary  for  the  production  of  the  impres- 
sion of  colour,  —  a  peculiarity,  the  nature  of  which  is  not  at 
present  known.  The  nerves  of  taste  and  smell  are  capable  of 
being  excited  to  an  infinite  variety  of  sensations  by  external 
causes)  but  each  taste  is  due  to  a  determinate  condition  of  the 


540  JOHANNES  MUELLER 

nerve  excited  by  the  external  cause;  and  it  is  ridiculous  to  say 
that  the  property  of  acidity  is  communicated  to  the  sensorium 
by  the  nerve  of  taste,  while  the  acid  acts  equally  upon  the  nerves 
of  feeling,  though  it  excites  there  no  sensation  of  taste. 

The  essential  nature  of  these  conditions  of  the  nerves,  by 
virtue  of  which  they  see  light  and  hear  sound,  —  the  essential 
nature  of  sound  as  a  property  of  the  auditory  nerve,  and  of  light 
as  a  property  of  the  optic  nerve,  of  taste,  of  smell,  and  of  feel- 
ing, —  remains,  like  the  ultimate  causes  of  natural  phenomena 
generally,  a  problem  incapable  of  solution.  Respecting  the  na- 
ture of  the  sensation  of  the  colour  "blue,"  for  example,  we  can 
reason  no  farther;  it  is  one  of  the  many  facts  which  mark  the 
limits  of  our  powers  of  mind.  It  would  not  advance  the  ques- 
tion to  suppose  the  peculiar  sensations  of  the  different  senses 
excited  by  one  and  the  same  cause,  to  result  from  the  propaga- 
tion of  vibrations  of  the  nervous  principle  of  different  rapidity 
to  the  sensorium.  Such  an  hypothesis,  if  at  all  tenable,  would 
find  its  first  application  in  accounting  for  the  different  sensa- 
tions of  which  a  single  sense  is  susceptible;  for  example,  in  ex- 
plaining how  the  sensorium  receives  the  different  impressions 
of  blue,  red,  and  yellow,  or  of  an  acute  and  a  grave  tone,  or  of 
painful  and  pleasurable  sensations,  or  of  the  sensations  of  heat 
and  cold,  or  of  the  tastes  of  bitter,  sweet,  and  acid.  It  is  only 
with  this  application  that  the  hyp>othesis  is  worthy  of  regard : 
tones  of  different  degrees  of  acuteness  are  certainly  produced  by 
vibrations  of  sonorous  bodies  of  different  degrees  of  rapidity ;  and 
a  slight  contact  of  a  solid  body,  which  singly  excites  in  a  nerve 
of  common  sensation  merely  the  simple  sensation  of  touch,  pro- 
duces in  the  same  nerve  when  repeated  rapidly,  as  the  vibra- 
tions of  a  sonorous  body,  the  feeling  of  tickling;  so  that  possibly 
a  pleasurable  sensation,  even  when  it  arises  from  internal  causes 
independently  of  external  influences,  is  due  to  the  rapidity  of 
the  vibrations  of  the  nervous  principle  in  the  nerves  of  feeling. 

The  accuracy  of  our  discrimination  by  means  of  the  senses 
dei)ends  on  the  different  manner  in  which  the  conditions  of  our 
nerves  are  affected  by  different  bodies;  but  the  preceding  con- 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         541 

siderations  show  us  the  impossibility  that  our  senses  can  ever 
reveal  to  us  the  true  nature  and  essence  of  the  material  world. 
In  our  intercourse  with  external  nature  it  is  always  our  own 
sensations  that  we  become  acquainted  with,  and  from  them  we 
form  conceptions  of  the  properties  of  external  objects,  which 
may  be  relatively  correct;  but  we  can  never  submit  the  nature 
of  the  objects  themselves  to  that  immediate  perception  to 
which  the  states  of  the  different  parts  of  our  own  body  are  sub- 
jected in  the  sensorium. 

VI.  The  nerve  of  each  sense  seems  to  be  capable  of  one  deter- 
minate kind  of  sensation  only,  and  not  of  those  proper  to  the  other 
organs  of  sense;  hence  one  nerve  of  sense  cannot  take  the  place  and 
perform  the  function  of  the  nerve  of  another  sense. 

The  sensation  of  each  organ  of  sense  may  be  increased  in 
intensity  till  it  become  pleasurable,  or  till  it  becomes  disagree- 
able, without  the  specific  nature  of  the  sensation  being  altered, 
or  converted  into  that  of  another  organ  of  sense.  The  sensation 
of  dazzling  light  is  an  unpleasant  sensation  of  the  organ  of  vi- 
sion; harmony  of  colours,  an  agreeable  one.  Harmonious  and 
discordant  sounds  are  agreeable  and  disagreeable  sensations  of 
the  organ  of  hearing.  The  organs  of  taste  and  smell  have  their 
pleasant  and  unpleasant  tastes  and  odours;  the  organ  of  touch 
its  pleasurable  and  painful  feelings.  It  appears,  therefore,  that, 
even  in  the  most  excited  condition  of  an  organ  of  sense,  the  sens- 
ation preserves  its  specific  character.  It  is  an  admitted  fact 
that  the  sensations  of  light,  sound,  taste,  and  odours,  can  be 
experienced  only  in  their  respective  nerves;  but  in  the  case  of 
common  sensation  this  is  not  so  evidently  the  case,  for  it  is  a 
question  whether  the  sensation  of  pain  may  not  be  felt  in  the 
nerves  of  the  higher  senses,  —  whether,  for  example,  violent 
irritation  of  the  optic  nerve  may  not  give  rise  to  the  sensation 
of  pain.  This  question  is  difficult  of  solution.  There  are  fila- 
ments of  the  nerves  of  common  sensation  distributed  in  the 
nerves  of  the  other  organs  of  sense:  the  nostrils  are  supplied 
with  nerves  of  common  sensation  from  the  second  division  of 
the  nervus  trigeminus  in  addition  to  the  olfactory  nerves;  the 
tongue  has  common  sensibility  as  well  as  taste,  and  may  retain 


542  JOHANNES  MUELLER 

the  one  while  it  loses  the  other;  the  eye  and  organ  of  hearing 
likewise  are  similarly  endowed. 

To  determine  this  question,  it  is  necessary  to  institute  experi- 
ments on  the  isolated  nerves  of  special  sense  themselves.  As  far 
as  such  experiments  have  hitherto  gone,  they  favour  the  view 
that  the  nerves  of  sense  are  susceptible  of  no  other  kind  of  sen- 
sation than  that  peculiar  to  each,  and  are  not  endowed  with 
the  faculty  of  common  sensibiUty. 

Among  the  well-attested  facts  of  physiology,  again,  there  is 
not  one  to  support  the  belief  that  one  nerve  of  sense  can  assume 
the  functions  of  another.  The  exaggeration  of  the  sense  of 
touch  in  the  blind  will  not  in  these  days  be  called  seeing  with  the 
fingers ;  the  accounts  of  the  power  of  vision  by  the  fingers  and 
epigastrium,  said  to  be  possessed  in  the  so-called  magnetic 
state,  appear  to  be  mere  fables,  and  the  instances  in  which  it  has 
been  pretended  to  practise  it,  cases  of  deception.  The  nerves  of 
touch  are  capable  of  no  other  sensation  than  that  of  touch  or 
feeling.  Hence,  also,  no  sounds  can  be  heard  except  by  the 
auditory  nerve;  the  vibrations  of  bodies  are  perceived  by  the 
nerves  of  touch  as  mere  tremours  wholly  different  in  its  nature 
from  sound;  though  it  is  indeed  even  now  not  rare  for  the  differ- 
ent modes  of  action  of  the  vibrations  of  bodies  upon  the  sense 
of  hearing,  and  upon  that  of  feeling,  to  be  confounded.  With- 
out the  organ  of  hearing  with  its  vital  endowments,  there  would 
be  no  such  a  thing  as  sound  in  the  world,  but  merely  vibrations; 
without  the  organ  of  sight,  there  would  be  no  light,  colour,  nor 
darkness,  but  merely  a  corresponding  presence  or  absence  of 
the  oscillations  of  the  imponderable  matter  of  light. 

VII.  //  is  not  known  whether  the  essential  cause  of  the  peculiar 
*' energy  "  of  each  nerve  of  sense  is  seated  in  the  nerve  itself,  or  in  the 
parts  of  the  brain  and  spinal  cord  with  which  it  is  connected;  hut  it 
is  certain  that  the  central  portions  of  tJie  neroes  hicluded  in  the 
encephalon  are  susceptible  of  their  peculiar  sensations,  inde- 
pendently of  the  more  peripheral  portion  of  the  nervous  cords 
which  form  the  means  of  communication  with  the  external  organs 
of  sense. 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         543 

The  specific  sensibility  of  the  individual  senses  to  particular 
stimuli,  —  owing  to  which  vibrations  of  such  rapidity  or  length 
as  to  produce  sound  are  perceived,  only  by  the  senses  of  hearing 
and  touch,  and  mere  mechanical  influences,  scarcely  at  all  by 
the  sense  of  taste,  —  must  be  a  property  of  the  nerves  them- 
selves; but  the  peculiar  mode  of  reaction  of  each  sense,  after  the 
excitement  of  its  nerve,  may  be  due  to  either  of  two  conditions. 
Either  the  nerves  themselves  may  communicate  impressions 
different  in  quality  to  the  sensorium,  which  in  every  instance 
remains  the  same;  or  the  vibrations  of  the  nervous  principle 
may  in  every  nerve  be  the  same  and  yet  give  rise  to  the  percep- 
tion of  different  sensations  in  the  sensorium,  owing  to  the  parts 
of  the  latter  with  which  the  nerves  are  connected  having  differ- 
ent properties. 

The  proof  of  either  of  these  propositions  I  regard  as  at 
present  impossible.     .     .     . 

VIII.  The  immediate  objects  of  the  perception  of  our  senses  are 
merely  particular  states  induced  in  the  nerves,  and  felt  as  sensa- 
tions either  by  the  nerves  themselves  or  by  the  sensorium;  but  inas- 
much as  the  nerves  of  the  senses  are  material  bodies,  and  therefore 
participate  in  the  properties  of  matter  generally  occupying  space, 
being  susceptible  of  vibratory  motion,  and  capable  of  being  changed 
chemically  as  well  as  by  the  action  of  heat  and  electricity,  they 
make  known  to  the  sensorium,  by  virtue  of  the  changes  thus  produced 
in  them  by  external  causes,  not  merely  their  own  condition,  but  also 
properties  and  changes  of  condition  of  external  bodies.  The  in- 
formation thus  obtained  by  the  senses  concerning  external  nature, 
varies  in  each  sense,  having  a  relation  to  the  qualities  or  energies  of 
the  neri)e. 

Qualities  which  are  to  be  regarded  rather  as  sensations  or 
modes  of  reaction  of  the  nerves  of  sense,  are  light,  colour,  the 
bitter  and  sweet  tastes,  pleasant  and  unpleasant  odours,  pain- 
ful and  pleasant  impressions  on  the  nerves  of  touch,  cold  and 
warmth:  properties  which  may  belong  wholly  to  external  na- 
ture are  "extension,"  progressive  and  tremulous  motion,  and 
chemical  change. 

All  the  senses  are  not  equally  adapted  to  impart  the  idea  of 


544  JOHANNES  MUELLER 

"extension"  to  the  sensorium.  The  nerve  of  vision  and  the 
nerve  of  touch,  being  capable  of  an  exact  perception  of  this 
property  in  themselves,  make  us  acquainted  with  it  in  external 
bodies.  In  the  nerves  of  taste,  the  sensation  of  extension  is  less 
distinct,  but  is  not  altogether  deficient ;  thus  we  are  capable  of 
distinguishing  whether  the  seat  of  a  bitter  or  sweet  taste  be  the 
tongue,  the  palate,  or  the  fauces.  In  the  sense  of  touch  and 
sight,  however,  the  perception  of  space  is  most  acute.  The  retina 
of  the  optic  nerve  has  a  structure  especially  adapted  for  this 
perception;  for  the  ends  of  the  nervous  fibres  in  the  retina  are, 
as  Treviranus  discovered,  so  arranged  as  to  be  at  last  perpen- 
dicular to  its  inner  surface,  and  by  their  papillar  extremities 
form  a  pavement-like  composite  membrane.  On  the  great  num- 
ber of  these  terminal  fibrils  depends  the  delicate  power  of  dis- 
criminating the  position  of  bodies  in  space  possessed  by  the 
sense  of  vision ;  for  each  fibre  represents  a  greater  or  less  field  of 
the  visible  world,  and  imparts  the  impression  of  it  to  the  sens- 
orium. 

The  sense  of  touch  has  a  much  more  extended  sphere  of  ac- 
tion for  the  perception  of  space  than  has  the  sense  of  vision ;  but 
its  perception  of  this  quality  of  external  bodies  is  much  less  ac- 
curate ;  and  considerable  portions  of  the  surface  of  the  body  or 
skin  are  in  many  instances  represented  in  the  sensorium  by 
very  few  nervous  fibres;  hence,  in  many  parts  of  the  surface, 
impressions  on  two  points  considerably  removed  from  each 
other  are,  as  E.  H.  Weber  has  shown,  felt  as  one  impression. 
Although  the  senses  of  vision,  touch,  and  taste  are  all  capable 
of  perceiving  the  property  of  extension  in  space,  yet  the  quality 
of  the  sensations  which  give  the  conception  of  extension  is 
different  in  each  of  these  senses;  the  sensation  in  one  is  an  image 
of  which  the  essential  quality  is  light ;  in  another,  a  perception 
of  extension  with  any  of  the  modifications  of  the  quality  of 
touch,  between  pain,  cold,  heat,  and  pleasure;  in  the  third,  a 
perception  of  extension  with  the  quality  of  taste. 


RUDOLF  HERMANN  LOTZE 

(1817-1881) 

OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  German  *  hy 
GEORGE  TRUMBULL  LADD 

CHAPTER  IV.    THE  THEORY  OF  LOCAL  SIGNS 

§  27.  Metaphysic  raises  the  doubt,  whether  space  is  actually 
extended  and  we,  together  with  'Things,'  are  contained  in  it; 
whether  —  just  the  reverse  —  the  whole  spatial  world  is  not 
rather  only  a  form  of  intuition  in  us. 

This  question  we  for  the  present  leave  one  side,  and  in  the 
meantime  take  our  point  of  departure  from  the  assumption, pre- 
viously alluded  to,  with  which  we  are  all  conversant.  But  since 
Things  in  space  can  never  become  the  object  of  our  perception 
by  virtue  of  their  bare  existence,  and,  on  the  contrary,  become 
such  solely  through  the  effects  which  they  exercise  upon  us,  the 
question  arises:  How  do  the  Things  by  their  influence  upon  us 
bring  it  to  pass,  that  we  are  compelled  mentally  to  represent 
them  in  the  same  reciprocal  position  in  space,  in  which  they 
actually  exist  outside  of  us? 

§  28.  In  the  case  of  the  eye,  nature  has  devised  a  painstaking 
structure,  such  that  the  rays  of  light  which  come  from  a  lumin- 
ous point  are  collected  again  at  one  point  on  the  retina,  and 
that  the  different  points  of  the  image,  which  originate  here,  as- 
sume the  same  reciprocal  relation  toward  one  another  as  the 

*  From  H.  Lotze's  Grundziige  der  Psychologic :  Dictate  aus  den  Vorlesungen. 
Lpz.  1881;  3  Aufl.  1884.  Reprinted  from  H.  Lotze's  Outlines  of  Psychology: 
Dictated  Portions  of  the  Lectures.  Translated  and  edited  by  George  T.  Ladd. 
Boston:  Ginn  &  Co.  1886. 


546        RUDOLPH  HERMANN  LOTZE 

points  of  the  object  outside  of  us,  to  which  they  correspond. 
Without  doubt,  this  so-called  'image  of  the  object,'  so  care- 
fully prepared,  is  an  indispensable  condition  of  our  being  able 
mentally  to  present  the  object  in  its  true  form  and  position. 
But  it  is  the  source  of  all  the  errors  in  this  matter  to  believe 
that  the  bare  existence  of  this  image,  without  anything  else, 
explains  our  idea  of  the  position  of  its  parts.  The  entire  image 
is  essentially  nothing  but  a  representative  of  the  external  ob- 
ject, transposed  into  the  interior  of  the  organ  of  sense;  and  how 
we  know  and  experience  aught  of  it,  is  now  just  as  much  the 
question  as  the  question  previously  was,  —  How  can  we  per- 
ceive the  external  object? 

§  29.  If  one  wished  to  conceive  of  the  soul  itself  as  an  ex- 
tended being,  then  the  impressions  on  the  retina  would,  of 
course,  be  able  to  transplant  themselves,  with  all  their  geo- 
metrical regularity,  to  the  soul.  One  point  of  the  soul  would  be 
excited  as  green,  the  other  red,  a  third  yellow;  and  these  three 
would  lie  at  the  corners  of  a  triangle  precisely  in  the  same  way 
as  the  three  corresponding  excitations  on  the  retina. 

It  is  also  obvious,  however,  that  there  is  no  real  gain  in  all 
this.  The  bare  fact  that  three  different  points  of  the  soul  are 
excited  is,  primarily,  a  disconnected  three-fold  fact.  A  know- 
ledge thereof,  however,  and  therefore  a  knowledge  of  this  three- 
foldness,  and  of  the  reciprocal  positions  of  the  three  points,  is, 
nevertheless,  by  no  means  given  in  this  way:  but  such  know- 
ledge could  be  brought  about  only  by  means  of  a  uniting  and 
relating  activity;  and  this  itself,  like  every  activity,  would  be 
perfectly  foreign  to  all  predicates  of  extension  and  magnitudes 
in  space. 

§  30.  The  same  thought  is  more  immediately  obvious  if  we 
surrender  this  useless  notion  of  the  soul  being  extended,  and 
consider  it  as  a  supersensible  essence,  which,  in  case  we  wish  to 
bring  it  at  all  into  connection  with  spatial  determinations, 
could  be  represented  only  as  an  indivisible  point. 

On  making  the  transition  into  this  indivisible  point,  the 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  547 

manifold  impressions  must  obviously  lose  all  the  geometrical 
relations  which  they  might  still  have  upon  the  extended  retina, 
—  just  in  the  same  way  as  the  rays  of  light,  which  converge  at 
the  single  focus  of  a  lens,  are  not  side  by  side  with  one  another, 
but  only  all  together,  in  this  point.  Beyond  the  focus,  the  rays 
diverge  in  the  same  order  as  that  in  which  they  entered  it.  No- 
thing analogous  to  this,  however,  happens  in  our  consciousness; 
that  is  to  say,  the  many  impressions,  which  were  previously 
side  by  side  with  one  another,  do  not  actually  again  separate 
from  each  other;  but,  instead  of  this,  the  aforesaid  activity  of 
mental  presentation  simply  occurs,  and  it  transposes  their 
images  to  different  places  in  the  space  that  is  only  '  intuited ' 
by  it. 

Here,  too,  the  previous  observation  holds  good:  The  mental 
presentation  is  not  that  which  it  presents;  and  the  idea  of  a 
point  on  the  left  does  not  lie  on  the  left  of  the  idea  of  a  point  on 
the  right;  but  of  one  mental  presentation,  which  in  itself  has  no 
spatial  properties  whatever,  both  points  are  merely  themselves 
so  presented  before  the  mind,  as  though  one  lay  to  the  left,  the 
other  to  the  right. 

§  31.  The  following  result  now  stands  before  us:  Many  im- 
pressions exist  conjointly  in  the  soul,  although  not  spatially 
side  by  side  with  one  another;  but  they  are  merely  together  in 
the  same  way  as  the  synchronous  tones  of  a  chord;  that  is  to 
say,  qualitatively  different,  but  not  side  by  side  with,  above 
or  below,  one  another.  Notwithstanding,  the  mental  presenta- 
tion of  a  spatial  order  must  be  produced  again  from  these 
impressions.  The  question  is,  therefore,  in  the  first  place,  to  be 
raised :  How  in  general  does  the  soul  come  to  apprehend  these 
impressions,  not  in  the  form  in  which  they  actually  are,  — to 
wit,  non-spatial,  —  but  as  they  are  not,  in  a  spatial  juxta- 
position? 

The  satisfactory  reason  obviously  cannot  lie  in  the  impres- 
sions themselves,  but  must  lie  solely  in  the  nature  of  the  soul  in 
which  they  appear,  and  upon  which  they  themselves  act  sim- 
ply as  stimuli. 


548         RUDOLPH  HERMANN  LOTZE 

On  this  account,  it  is  customary  to  ascribe  to  the  soul  this 
tendency  to  form  an  intuition  of  space,  as  an  originally  inborn 
capacity.  And  indeed  we  are  compelled  to  rest  satisfied  with 
this.  All  the  'deductions'  of  space,  hitherto  attempted,  which 
have  tried  to  show  on  what  ground  it  is  necessary  to  the  nature 
of  the  soul  to  develop  this  intuition  of  space,  have  utterly 
failed  of  success.  Nor  is  there  any  reason  to  complain  over  this 
matter;  for  the  simplest  modes  of  the  experience  of  the  soul 
must  always  merely  be  recognized  as  given  facts,  —  just  as,  for 
example,  no  one  seriously  asks  why  we  only  hear,  and  do  not 
rather  taste,  the  waves  of  air. 

§  32.  The  second  question  is  much  more  important.  Let  it 
be  assumed  that  the  soul  once  for  all  Hes  under  the  necessity  of 
mentally  presenting  a  certain  manifold  as  in  juxtaposition  in 
space;  How  does  it  come  to  localize  every  individual  impression 
at  a  definite  place  in  the  space  intuited  by  it,  in  such  manner 
that  the  entire  image  thus  intuited  is  similar  to  the  external 
object  which  acted  on  the  eye? 

Obviously,  such  a  clue  must  lie  in  the  impressions  them- 
selves. The  simple  quality  of  the  sensation  *  green '  or  *  red '  does 
not,  however,  contain  it;  for  every  such  color  can  in  turn  ap- 
pear at  every  point  in  space,  and  on  this  account  does  not,  of 
itself,  require  always  to  be  referred  to  the  one  definite  point. 

We  now  remind  ourselves,  however,  that  the  carefulness  with 
which  the  regular  position  on  the  retina  of  the  particular  excita- 
tions is  secured,  cannot  be  without  a  purpose.  To  be  sure,  an 
impression  is  not  seen  at  a  definite  point  on  account  of  its  being 
situated  at  such  point;  but  it  may  perhaps  by  means  of  this 
definite  situation  act  on  the  soul  otherwise  than  if  it  were  else- 
where situated. 

Accordingly  we  conceive  of  this  in  the  following  way:  Every 
impression  of  color  r  —  for  example,  red  —  produces  on  all 
places  of  the  retina,  which  it  reaches,  the  same  sensation  of  red- 
ness. In  addition  to  this,  however,  it  produces  on  each  of  these 
different  places,  a,  b,  c,  a  certain  accessory  impression,  a,  yS,  7, 
which  is  independent  of  the  nature  of  the  color  seen,  and  de- 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         549 

pendent  merely  on  the  nature  of  the  place  excited.  This  second 
local  impression  would  therefore  be  associated  with  every  im- 
pression of  color  r,  in  such  manner  that  ra  signifies  a  red  that 
acts  on  the  point  a,  r/3  signifies  the  same  red  in  case  it  acts  on  the 
point  h.  These  associated  accessory  impressions  would,  accord- 
ingly, render  for  the  soul  the  clue,  by  following  which  it  trans- 
poses the  same  red,  now  to  one,  now  to  another  spot,  or  simul- 
taneously to  different  spots  in  the  space  intuited  by  it. 

In  order,  however,  that  this  may  take  place  in  a  methodical 
way,  these  accessory  impressions  must  be  completely  different 
from  the  main  impressions,  the  colors,  and  must  not  disturb 
the  latter.  They  must  be,  however,  not  merely  of  the  same 
kind  among  themselves,  but  wholly  definite  members  of  a 
series  or  a  system  of  series;  so  that  for  every  impression  r 
there  may  be  assigned,  by  the  aid  of  this  adjoined  *  local  sign,' 
not  merely  a  particular,  but  a  quite  definite  spot  among  all  the 
rest  of  the  impressions. 

§  33.  The  foregoing  is  the  theory  of  ^  Local  Signs.'  Their 
fundamental  thought  consists  in  this,  that  all  spatial  differ- 
ences and  relations  among  the  impressions  on  the  retina  must 
be  compensated  for  by  corresponding  non-spatial  and  merely 
intensive  relations  among  the  impressions  which  exist  together 
without  space-form  in  the  soul ;  and  that  from  them  in  reverse 
order  there  must  arise,  not  a  new  actual  arrangement  of  these 
impressions  in  extension,  but  only  the  mental  presentation  of 
such  an  arrangement  in  us.  To  such  an  extent  do  we  hold  this 
principle  to  be  a  necessary  one. 

On  the  contrary,  only  hypotheses  are  possible  in  order  to 
answer  the  question,  In  what  do  those  accessory  impressions 
requisite  consist,  so  far  as  the  sense  of  sight  is  concerned?  We 
propose  the  following  conjecture :  — 

In  case  a  bright  light  falls  upon  a  lateral  part  of  the  retina, 
on  which  —  as  is  well  known  —  the  sensitiveness  to  impressions 
is  more  obtuse  than  in  the  middle  of  the  retina,  then  there  fol- 
lows a  rotation  of  the  eye  until  the  most  sensitive  middle  part 
of  the  retina,  as  the  receptive  organ,  is  brought  beneath  this 


550        RUDOLPH  HERMANN  LOTZE 

light:  we  are  accustomed  to  style  this  the  "fixation  of  vision" 
upon  the  aforesaid  light.  Such  motion  happens  involuntarily, 
without  any  original  cognition  of  its  purpose,  and  um'formly 
without  cognition  of  the  means  by  which  it  is  brought  about. 
We  may  therefore  reckon  it  among  the  so-called  reflex  motions, 
which  originate  by  means  of  an  excitation  of  one  nerve,  that 
serves  at  other  times  for  sensation,  being  transplanted  to  motor 
nerves  without  any  further  assistance  from  the  soul  and  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  pre-existing  anatomical  connections;  and 
these  latter  nerves  being  therefore  stimulated  to  execute  a 
definite  motion  in  a  perfectly  mechanical  way.  Now  in  order  to 
execute  such  a  rotation  of  the  eye  as  serves  the  purpose  previ- 
ously alluded  to,  every  single  spot  in  the  retina,  in  case  it  is 
stimulated,  must  occasion  a  magnitude  and  direction  of  the 
aforesaid  rotation  peculiar  to  it  alone.  But  at  the  same  time  all 
these  rotations  of  the  eye  would  be  perfectly  comparable  mo- 
tions, and,  of  course,  members  of  a  system  of  series  that  are 
graded  according  to  magnitude  and  direction. 

§  34.  The  application  of  the  foregoing  hypothesis  (many 
more  minute  particular  questions  being  disregarded)  we  con- 
ceive of  as  follows:  —  In  case  a  bright  light  falls  upon  a  lateral 
point  P  of  a  retina,  which  has  not  yet  had  any  sensation  of  light 
whatever,  then  there  arises,  in  consequence  of  the  connection  in 
the  excitation  of  the  nerves,  such  a  rotation  of  the  eye  as  that, 
instead  of  the  place  P,  the  place  E  of  clearest  vision  is  brought 
beneath  the  approaching  stimulus  of  the  light.  Now  while  the 
eye  is  passing  through  the  arc  PE,  the  soul  receives  at  each 
instant  a  feeling  of  its  momentary  position,  —  a  feeling  of  the 
same  kind  as  that  by  which  we  are,  when  in  the  dark,  informed 
of  the  position  of  our  limbs.  To  the  arc  PE  there  corresponds 
then  a  series  of  constantly  changing  feelings  of  position,  the 
first  member  of  which  we  call  tt,  and  the  last  of  which  we 
call  e. 

If  now,  in  a  second  instance,  the  place  P  is  again  stimulated 
by  the  light,  then  there  originates  not  simply  the  rotation  PE 
for  a  second  time,  but  the  initial  member  of  the  series  of  feeling 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         551 

of  position  tt,  reproduces  in  memory  the  entire  series  associated 
with  it,  Tre ;  and  this  series  of  mental  presentations  is  independ- 
ent of  the  fact  that  at  the  same  time  also  the  rotation  of  the  eye 
PE  actually  follows. 

Exactly  the  same  thing  would  hold  good  of  another  point  R; 
only  the  arc  RE,  the  series  of  feelings  pe,  and  also  the  initial 
member  of  the  series,  p,  would  have  other  values. 

Now  finally,  in  case  it  came  about  that  both  places,  P  and  R, 
were  simultaneously  stimulated  with  an  equal  intensity,  and 
that  the  arcs  PE  and  RE  were  equal  but  in  opposite  directions 
to  each  other,  then  the  actual  rotation  of  the  eye  PE  and  RE 
could  not  take  place;  on  the  other  hand,  the  excitation  upon 
the  places  P  and  R  is  nevertheless  not  without  effect ;  each  pro- 
duces the  series  of  feelings  of  position  belonging  to  it,  —  re- 
spectively, Tre  and  pe.  Although  therefore  the  eye  does  not  now 
move,  yet  there  is  connected  with  every  excitation  of  the  places 
P  and  R  the  mental  presentation  of  the  magnitude  and  of  the 
qualitative  peculiarity  of  a  series  of  changes,  which  conscious- 
ness or  the  common  feeling  would  have  to  experience,  in  order 
that  these  excitations  may  fall  upon  the  place  of  clearest 
vision,  or,  according  to  the  customary  expression,  in  the  line  of 
vision. 

And  now  we  assert  that  to  see  anything  *  to  the  right '  or  '  to 
the  left '  of  this  line  of  vision  means  nothing  more  than  this,  to 
be  conscious  of  the  magnitude  of  the  achievement  which  would 
be  necessary  to  bring  the  object  into  this  line. 

§  35.  By  the  foregoing  considerations  nothing  further  would 
be  established  than  the  relative  position  of  the  single  colored 
points  in  the  field  of  vision.  The  entire  image,  on  the  contrary, 
would  still  have  no  place  at  all  in  a  yet  larger  space;  indeed, 
even  the  mental  presentation  of  such  a  place  would  as  yet  have 
no  existence. 

Now  this  image  first  attains  a  place  with  reference  to  the  eye, 
the  repeated  opening  and  closing  of  which,  since  it  can  become 
known  to  us  in  another  way,  is  the  condition  of  its  existence  or 
non-existence.  That  is  to  say,  the  visible  world  is  in  front  before 


552         RUDOLPH  HERMANN  LOTZE 

our  eyes.  What  is  behind  us  not  merely  has  no  existence  what- 
ever for  us,  but  we  do  not  once  know  that  there  is  anything 
which  should  be  called  'behind.' 

The  motions  of  the  body  lead  us  further.  If  the  field  of  vision 
in  a  position  of  rest  contains  from  left  to  right  the  images  a  be, 
and  we  then  turn  ourselves  to  the  right  upon  our  axis,  a  van- 
ishes, but  d  appears  on  the  right,  and  therefore  the  image 
bed,  ede,  def,  .  .  .  xyz,  yza,  zab,  abe,  succeed  in  order.  As  a 
result  of  such  recurrence  of  the  images  with  which  we  began, 
the  two  following  thoughts  originate;  namely,  that  the  visible 
world  of  objects  exists  in  a  closed  circuit  of  extension  about  us, 
and  that  the  alteration  of  our  own  position,  which  we  perceive 
by  means  of  the  changing  feelings  of  position  while  turm'ng, 
depends  upon  an  alteration  of  our  relation  to  this  immovable 
world  of  objects,  —  that  is  to  say,  upon  a  motion. 

It  is  easily  understood  that  the  mental  picture  of  a  spherical 
extension  originates  from  the  aforesaid  mental  picture  of  a 
closed  horizon  by  means  of  repeatedly  turning  in  a  similar  way 
in  various  other  directions. 

§  36.  But,  nevertheless,  this  spherical  surface  also  would 
always  have  only  a  superficial  extension  no  intimation  would 
as  yet  exist  of  a  depth  to  space. 

Now  the  mental  presentation,  to  the  effect  that  something 
like  a  third  dimension  of  space  in  general  exists,  cannot  origin- 
ate of  itself,  but  only  through  the  experience  which  we  have  in 
case  we  move  about  among  the  visible  objects.  From  the  mani- 
fold displacements  which  the  particular  visual  images  experi- 
ence, in  a  manner  that  is  tedious  to  describe  but  very  easy  to 
imagine,  we  gain  the  impression,  that  each  line  in  an  image 
originally  seen  is  the  beginning  of  new  surfaces  which  do  not 
coincide  with  that  previously  seen,  but  which  lead  out  into  this 
space,  now  extended  on  all  sides,  to  greater  or  less  distances 
from  the  line. 

Another  question  to  be  treated  subsequently  is  this:  By  what 
means  do  we  estimate  the  different  magnitudes  of  the  distance 
into  this  depth  of  space? 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         553 

§  37.  The  crossing  of  the  rays  of  light  in  the  narrow  opening 
of  the  pupil  is  the  cause  of  the  image  of  the  upper  points  of  the 
object  being  formed  beneath,  that  of  the  lower  points  above  on 
the  retina ;  and  of  the  whole  picture  having  therefore  a  position 
the  reverse  of  the  object.  But  it  is  a  prejudice  on  this  account 
to  consider  seeing  in  inverse  position  to  be  natural,  and  seeing 
in  upright  position  to  be  mysterious.  Like  every  geometrical 
property  of  the  image,  so  this  one  of  its  position,  too,  on  passing 
into  consciousness,  is  completely  lost;  and  the  position  in  which 
we  see  things  is  in  no  way  prejudiced  by  the  aforesaid  position 
of  the  image  on  the  retina. 

Now,  however,  in  order  that  we  may  be  able  to  ascribe  to 
objects  a  position  at  all,  in  order  therefore  that  the  expressions 
'above,'  'below,'  'upright,'  and  'inverted,'  may  have  a  mean- 
ing, we  must  have,  independent  of  all  sensation  by  sight,  a  men- 
tal picture  of  a  space  in  which  the  entire  content  of  the  field  of 
vision  shall  be  arranged,  and  in  which  'above'  and  'below'  are 
two  qualitatively  opposite  and,  on  this  account,  not  exchange- 
able directions. 

The  muscular  feeling  affords  us  such  a  mental  presentation. 
'Below'  is  the  place  toward  which  the  direction  of  gravity 
moves; '  above,'  the  opposite.  Both  directions  are  distinguished 
perfectly  for  us  by  means  of  an  immediate  feeling;  and,  on  this 
account,  we  are  never  deceived  even  in  the  dark  about  the  posi- 
tion and  situation  of  our  body. 

Accordingly  we  see  objects  'upright'  in  case  the  lower  points 
of  the  object  are  reached  by  one  and  the  same  movement  of  the 
eyes  simultaneously  with  those  points  of  our  own  body  which 
are  '  below '  according  to  the  testimony  of  the  aforesaid  muscu- 
lar feeling;  and  the  upper  points  by  a  movement  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  same  testimony,  renders  visible  simultaneously  the 
upper  parts  of  our  own  selves. 

Now  it  is  exactly  such  agreement  that  is  secured  in  our  eye,  in 
which  the  axis  lies  in  front  of  the  sensitive  retina,  by  means  of 
the  inverted  position  of  the  retinal  image.  In  an  other  eye  in 
which  the  sensitive  surface  should  be  placed  in  front  of  the  axis, 
and  yet  the  greatest  sensitiveness  also  should  appear  in  the 


554         RUDOLPH  HERMANN  LOTZE 

middle  portion  of  that  surface,  the  retinal  image  would  have  to 
stand  upright  to  serve  the  same  purpose. 

§  38.  The  final  and  valid  answer  to  the  question,  why  we 
have  single  vision  with  two  eyes,  is  not  to  be  given.  As  is  well 
known,  it  does  not  always  happen.  The  rather  must  two  im- 
pressions fall  on  two  quite  definite  points  of  the  retina  in  order 
to  coalesce.  We  see  double,  on  the  contrary,  if  they  fall  on 
other  points.  Naturally,  we  shall  say:  The  two  places  which 
belong  together  would  have  to  impart  like  local  signs  to  their 
impressions,  and  thereby  render  them  indistinguishable ;  but  we 
are  not  able  to  demonstrate  in  what  manner  this  postulate  is 
fulfilled.  Physiology,  too,  in  the  last  analysis,  satisfies  itself 
with  a  mere  term  for  the  fact ;  it  calls  *  identical '  those  places  in 
both  retinas  which  give  one  simple  impression,  and  'non- 
identical'  those  which  give  a  double  impression. 

§  39.  Irritations  of  the  skin  we  naturally  refer  at  once  to  the 
place  of  the  skin  on  which  we  see  them  acting.  But  in  case  of 
their  repetition,  when  we  are  not  able  to  see  them,  we  have  no 
assistance  from  remembering  them;  for  the  most  ordinary 
stimuU  have  already  in  the  course  of  our  life  touched  all  pos- 
sible places  of  the  skin,  and  could  therefore  now  as  well  be  re- 
ferred to  one  place  as  to  another.  In  order  that  they  may  be 
correctly  localized,  they  would  have  at  every  instant  to  tell  us 
anew  where  they  belong;  that  is  to  say,  there  must  be  attached 
to  the  main  impression  (impact,  pressure,  heat  or  cold)  an 
auxiliary  impression  which  is  independent  of  the  latter  and,  on 
the  contrary,  dependent  on  the  place  of  the  skin  that  is 
irritated. 

The  skin  can  supply  such  local  signs;  for  since  it  is  connected 
without  interruption,  a  single  point  of  it  cannot  be  irritated  at 
all,  without  the  surrounding  portion  experiencing  a  disjilacement, 
pulling,  stretching,  or  concussion  of  some  kind.  But,  further, 
since  the  skin  possesses  at  different  places  a  different  thickness, 
different  tension  or  liability  to  displacement,  —  extends  some- 
times above  the  firm  surfaces  of  the  bones,  sometimes  over  the 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY         555 

flesh  of  the  muscles,  sometimes  over  cavities;  since,  moreover, 
the  members  being  manifold,  these  relations  change  from  one 
stretch  of  skin  to  another ;  therefore  the  aforesaid  sum  of  sec- 
ondary effects  around  the  point  irritated  will  be  different  for 
each  one  from  the  remainder ;  and  such  effects,  if  they  are  taken 
up  by  the  nerve-endings  and  act  on  consciousness,  may  occa- 
sion the  feelings  so  difficult  to  describe,  according  to  which  we 
distinguish  a  contact  at  one  place  from  the  same  contact  at 
another. 

It  cannot  be  said,  however,  that  each  point  of  the  skin  has  its 
special  local  sign.  It  is  known  from  the  investigations  of  E.  H. 
Weber,  that  on  the  margin  of  the  lips,  the  tip  of  the  tongue,  the 
tips  of  the  fingers,  being  touched  in  two  places  (by  the  points  of 
a  pair  of  compasses)  can  be  distinguished  as  two  at  an  interval 
of  only  2  line ;  while  there  are  places  on  the  arms,  legs,  and  on 
the  back,  which  require  for  making  the  distinction  a  distance 
between  them  of  as  much  as  20  Unes.  We  interpret  this  in  the 
following  way.  Where  the  structure  of  the  skin  changes  little 
for  long  stretches,  the  local  signs  also  alter  only  a  little  from 
point  to  point.  And  if  two  stimuli  act  simultaneously,  and 
accordingly  a  reciprocal  disturbance  of  these  secondary  effects 
occurs,  they  will  be  undistinguishable ;  on  the  contrary,  in  cases 
where  both  stimuli  act  successively,  and  therefore  the  aforesaid 
disturbance  ceases,  both  are  still  frequently  distinguishable. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  know  nothing  further  to  allege  as  to  how 
the  extraordinary  sensitiveness  —  for  example  -s-  of  the  lips  is 
occasioned. 

§  40.  The  preceding  statement  merely  explains  the  possibil- 
ity of  distinguishing  impressions  made  at  different  places;  but 
each  impression  must  also  be  referred  to  the  definite  place  at 
which  it  acts. 

This  is  easy  for  one  who  sees,  since  he  already  possesses  a  pic- 
ture of  the  surface  of  his  own  body;  and,  on  this  account,  he 
now  by  means  of  the  unchanging  local  sign,  even  in  the  dark, 
translates  each  stimulus  which  he  has  once  seen  act  on  a  definite 
place,  to  the  same  place  in  this  picture  of  the  body  that  is  men- 


'S5^        RUDOLPH  HERMANN  LOTZE 

tally  presented  before  him.  One  born  blind  would  be  com- 
pelled to  construct  such  a  picture  first  by  means  of  the  sense  of 
touch;  and  this  naturally  is  accomplished  through  motions  of 
the  tactual  members  and  by  estimating  the  distances  which 
they  would  have  to  travel  in  order  to  reach  from  contact  at  the 
point  a  to  contact  at  the  other  point  b.  It  is  to  be  considered, 
however  that  these  motions  —  which  in  this  case  are  not  seen — 
are  perceivable  only  by  so-called  muscular  feelings;  —  that  is 
to  say  by  feelings  which  in  themselves  are  merely  certain 
species  of  the  way  we  feel,  and  do  not  of  themselves  at  all 
indicate  the  motions  which  are  in  fact  the  causes  of  them. 

Now  it  cannot  be  described,  how  it  is  that  this  interpretation 
of  the  muscular  feelings  actually  originates  in  the  case  of  those 
born  blind;  but  the  helps  which  lead  to  it  are  very  probably 
found  in  the  fact,  that  the  sense  of  touch  as  well  as  the  eye  can 
receive  many  impressions  simultaneously,  and  that,  in  case  of  a 
movement,  the  previous  impression  does  not  vanish  without 
trace  and  have  its  place  taken  by  a  wholly  new  one;  but  that,  in 
the  manner  previously  alleged,  the  combinations  abc,  bed,  etc., 
follow  one  another,  and  therefore  some  part  in  common  is 
always  left  over  for  the  next  two  impressions.  By  this  alone 
does  it  seem  possible  to  awaken  the  idea  that  the  same  occur- 
rence, from  which  the  series  of  changeable  muscular  feelings 
originates  for  us,  consists  in  an  alteration  of  our  relation  to  a 
series  of  objects  previously  existent  side  by  side  and  to  be  found 
arranged  in  a  definite  order;  it  consists,  therefore,  in  a  motion. 

5  41.  It  is  questionable  whether  the  mental  picture  of  space 
which  one  born  blind  attains  solely  by  the  sense  of  touch  will  be 
altogether  like  that  of  one  who  sees;  it  is  rather  to  be  assumed 
that  a  much  less  intuitable  system  of  mental  presentations  of 
time,  of  the  magnitude  of  motion,  and  of  the  exertion  which  is 
needed  in  order  to  reach  from  contact  at  one  point  to  that  at 
another,  takes  the  place  of  the  clear,  easy,  and  at  once  all-com- 
prehending intuition,  with  which  he  who  sees  is  endowed. 


ERNST  HEINRICH  WEBER 

(1795-1878) 

THE  SENSE  OF  TOUCH  AND  THE 
COMMON  FEELING 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

WEBER'S  LAW^ 

Concerning  the  Smallest  Perceptible  Differences  of 
Weights  which  we  can  Distinguish  by  the  Sense  of 
Touch,  of  the  Length  of  Lines  which  we  can  Distin- 
guish BY  Sight,  and  of  tones  which  we  can  Distinguish 
BY  Hearing 

The  smallest  perceptible  difference  between  two  weights, 
which  we  can  distinguish  by  the  feeling  of  muscular  exertion, 
appears  according  to  my  experiments  to  be  that  between 
weights  which  stand  approximately  in  the  relation  of  39  to  40: 
that  is  to  say,  of  which  one  is  about  1-40  heavier  than  the 
other.  By  means  of  the  feeling  of  pressure,  which  two  weights 
make  upon  our  skin,  all  we  are  able  to  distinguish  is  a  differ- 
ence of  weight  that  amounts  to  only  1-30,  so  that  the  weights 
accordingly  stand  in  the  relation  of  29  to  30. 

•  From  Der  Tastsinn  und  das  Gemeingejiihl  in  R.  Wagner's  Handworterbuch 
der  Physiologic,  Braunschweig,  1846,  iii,  2;  [separately,] Leipzig,  1849;  ib.,  1851; 
ib.,  1905. 

t  The  first  formulation  of  what  is  known  as  Weber's  Law  was  made  by  Weber 
in  1834  in  a  monograph  entitled  De  tactu.  It  reads  as  follows: 

"  In  comparing  objects  and  observing  the  distinction  between  them,  we  per- 
ceive not  the  difference  between  the  objects,  but  the  ratio  of  this  difference  to  the 
magnitude  of  the  objects  compared.  If  we  are  comparing  by  touch  two  weights, 
the  one  of  30  and  the  other  of  29  half-ounces,  the  difference  is  not  more  easily 
perceived  than  that  between  weights  of  30  and  29  drachms.  .  .  .  Since  the  dis- 


558  ERNST  HEINRICH  WEBER 

If  we  look  at  one  line  after  another,  any  one  who  p>ossesses  a 
very  exceptional  visual  discrimination  can  according  to  my 
experiments  discover  a  difference  between  two  lines  whose 
lengths  are  related  as  50  :  51,  or  even  as  100  :  loi.  Those  who 
have  a  less  delicate  visual  discrimination  distinguish  lines, 
which  are  separated  from  one  another  by  1-25  of  their  length. 
The  smallest  perceptible  difference  of  the  pitch  of  two  tones, 
(which  are  really  in  unison),  that  a  musician  perceives,  if  he 
hears  two  tones  successively,  is  according  to  Delezenne  ^  1-4 
Komma  (81-80)  1-4.  A  lover  of  music  according  to  him  distin- 
guishes only  about  1-2  Komma  (81-80)  1-2.  If  the  tones  are 
heard  simultaneously  we  cannot,  according  to  Delezenne's 
experiments,  perceive  such  small  tonal  differences.  1-4  Komma 
is  nearly  the  relation  of  321  1322,  but  1-2  Komma  is  nearly  the 
relation  of  160  :  161. 

tinction  is  not  perceived  more  easily  in  the  former  case  than  in  the  latter,  it  is 
clear  that  not  the  weights  of  the  differences  but  their  ratios  are  perceived.  .  .  . 
Experience  has  taught  us  that  apt  and  practised  o's  sense  the  difference  be- 
tween weights,  if  it  is  not  less  than  the  thirtieth  part  of  the  heavier  weight,  and 
that  the  same  o's  perceive  the  difference  not  less  easily,  if  drachms  are  put  in  the 
place  of  half-ounces. 

"  That  which  I  have  set  forth  with  regard  to  weights  compared  by  touch  holds 
also  of  lines  to  be  compared  by  sight.  For,  whether  you  compare  longer  or  shorter 
lines,  you  will  find  that  the  difference  is  not  sensed  by  most  o's  if  the  second  line 
is  less  by  a  hundredth  part.  .  .  .  The  length  in  which  the  distinction  resides, 
therefore,  although  [in  the  case  of  lines  of  50  and  50.5  mm.]  it  is  twice  as  small 
[as  it  is  in  the  case  of  lines  of  100  and  loi  mm.],  is  nevertheless  no  less  easily 
apprehended,  for  the  reason  that  in  both  cases  the  difference  of  the  compared 
lines  is  one  hundredth  of  the  longer  line. 

"  I  have  made  no  experiments  upon  comparison  of  tones  by  the  ear.  [Dele- 
zenne, however,  determined  the  j.  n.  d.  of  the  b  of  240  vs.]  As  this  author  does 
not  say  that  this  difference  is  discriminated  less  easily  in  deeper,  more  easily  in 
higher  tones,  and  as  I  have  never  heard  that  a  difference  is  more  easily  perceived 
in  higher  tones,  ...  I  imagine  that  in  audition  also  not  the  absolute  difference 
between  the  vibrations  of  two  tones,  but  the  relative  compared  with  the  number 
of  vibrations  of  the  tones  is  discriminated. 

"  The  observation,  confirmed  in  several  departments  of  sense,  that  in  ob- 
serving the  distinction  between  objects  we  perceive  not  the  absolute  but  the  rela- 
tive differences,  has  again  and  again  impelled  me  to  investigate  the  cause  of  this 
phenomenon;  and  I  hope  that  when  this  cause  is  suflBciently  understood,  we  shall 
be  able  to  judge  more  correctly  regarding  the  nature  of  the  senses  "  (172  ff.). 
Translation  in  E.  B.  Titchener's  Experimental  Psychology,  ii,  part  ii,  p.  xvi. 

*  Delezenne  in  Recueil  des  Travaux  de  la  sac.  des  sci.  de  Lille,  1827. 


THE  SENSE  OF  TOUCH  559 

I  have  shown  that  the  result  in  the  determinations  of  weight 
is  the  same,  whether  one  takes  ounces  or  half  ounces;  for  it 
does  not  depend  upon  the  number  of  grains  that  form  the 
increment  of  weight,  but  depends  on  the  fact  that  this  incre- 
ment makes  up  the  thirtieth  or  fiftieth  [should  be  fortieth]  part 
of  the  weight  which  we  are  comparing  with  the  second  weight. 
This  likewise  holds  true  of  the  comparison  of  the  length  of  two 
lines  and  of  the  pitch  of  two  tones.  It  makes  no  difference 
whether  we  compare  lines  that  are,  say,  two  inches  or  one  inch 
long,  if  we  examine  them  successively,  and  can  see  them  lying 
parallel  to  each  other ;  and  yet  the  extent  by  which  the  one  line 
exceeds  the  other  is  in  the  former  case  twice  as  great  as  in  the 
latter.  To  be  sure,  if  both  Unes  lie  close  together  and  parallel, 
we  compare  only  the  ends  of  the  lines  to  discover  how  much 
the  one  line  exceeds  the  other;  and  in  this  test  the  question  is 
only  how  great  that  length  of  line  which  overlaps  the  other 
really  is,  and  how  near  the  two  lines  lie  to  one  another. 

So  too  in  the  comparison  of  the  pitch  of  two  tones,  it  does 
not  matter  whether  the  two  tones  are  seven  tonal  stops  [i.e.  an 
octave]  higher  or  lower,  provided  only  they  do  not  lie  at  the  end 
of  the  tonal  series,  where  the  exact  discrimination  of  small 
tonal  differences  becomes  more  difficult.  Here  again,  therefore, 
it  is  not  a  question  of  the  number  of  vibrations,  by  which  the 
one  tone  exceeds  the  other,  but  of  the  relation  of  the  numbers  of 
the  vibrations  of  the  two  tones  which  we  are  comparing.  If  we 
counted  the  vibrations  of  the  two  tones  it  would  be  conceivable, 
that  we  should  pay  attention  only  to  the  number  of  vibrations 
by  which  one  tone  exceeds  the  other.  If  we  fix  the  eyes  first 
upon  one  line  and  afterwards  upon  a  second,  and  thus  permit 
both  to  be  pictured  successively  upon  the  most  sensitive  parts 
of  the  retina,  we  should  be  inclined  to  suppose,  that  we  com- 
pared the  traces  of  the  impression  which  the  first  image  left, 
with  the  impression  which  the  second  image  made  up>on  the 
same  parts  of  the  retina,  and  that  we  thereby  perceived  how 
much  the  second  image  exceeds  the  first,  and  conversely.  For 
this  is  the  way  we  compare  two  scale-units:  we  place  one  upon 
the  other,  so  that  they  coincide,  and  thus  perceive  how  much 


S6o  ERNST  HEINRICH  WEBER 

the  one  exceeds  the  other.  From  the  fact,  that  we  do  not  em- 
ploy this  method  which  is  so  very  advantageous,  it  seems  to 
follow,  that  we  are  unable  to  employ  it,  and  that  therefore  the 
preceding  impression  left  behind  no  such  trace  upon  the  retina, 
or  in  the  brain,  as  would  permit  of  comparison  in  the  manner 
mentioned  with  succeeding  impressions.  That  it  is  p>ossible 
for  us  to  proceed  otherwise  in  the  comparison  of  the  length  of 
two  lines  appears  from  the  fact,  that  we  can  compare  two  lines, 
which  are  longer  than  we  can  picture  at  once  in  their  en- 
tirety on  the  most  sensitive  part  of  the  retina.  In  this  case  we 
must  move  the  eye  and  thereby  cause  the  different  parts  of  the 
same  line  to  be  pictured  successively  upon  the  same  parts  of  the 
retina.  Under  these  circumstances  we  must  take  account  of 
the  movement  of  the  eye,  and  only  thus  do  we  form  an  idea  of 
the  length  of  the  lines.  Were  the  impressions  of  visible  things, 
which  we  preserve  in  memory,  traces,  which  the  sensuous 
impressions  left  behind  in  the  brain,  and  whose  spatial  relations 
corresponded  to  the  spatial  relations  of  the  sensuous  impres- 
sions, and  were  thus  so  to  speak  photographs  of  the  same,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  remember  a  figure,  which  is  larger  than 
could  be  pictured  at  once  wholly  upon  the  sensitive  part  of  the 
retina.  It  appears  to  me,  indeed,  as  if  a  figure,  which  we  can 
survey  at  a  single  glance,  impressed  itself  better  upon  our 
memory  and  our  imagination,  than  a  figure,  which  we  can 
survey  only  successively  by  moving  the  eyes;  but  we  can  never- 
theless represent  also  the  former  by  means  of  the  imagination. 
But  in  this  case  the  representation  of  the  whole  figure  seems  to 
be  composed  by  us  of  the  parts  which  we  perceive  all  at  once. 
If  we  compare  two  lines,  which  are  20  and  21  Linien  [i.e.  i-io 
of  an  inch]  long,  the  latter  is  1-20  longer,  but  the  absolute  dif- 
ference of  length  amounts  to  i  Linie.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
compare  two  lines,  which  are  i  Linie  and  1.05  Linie  long, 
the  difference  amounts  also  to  1-20,  but  the  line  is  only  1-20 
longer  than  the  other.  Consequently  in  the  latter  case  the  abso- 
lute difference  is  20  times  smaller.  But  1-20  Linie  is  a  size  like 
a  fine  pinhole  which  lies  at  the  very  threshold  of  vision.  The 
smallest  possible  point  that  we  are  able  to  see,  is  one  whose  di- 


THE  SENSE  OF  TOUCH  561 

ameter  amounts  to  1-20  Linie,  and  yet  one  who  has  a  very 
good  visual  discrimination  can  distinguish  in  respect  to  their 
length  two  lines  of  which  one  is  1-20  Linie  longer  than  the  other. 
Two  observers,  before  whom  I  placed  such  lines,  both  distin- 
guished the  longer  from  the  shorter,  and  their  visual  discrimi- 
nation extended  even  farther.  I  myself  distinguished  two  lines, 
whose  relative  difference  of  length  amounted  to  1-20,  and  of 
which  the  one  was  between  1-17  and  1-18  longer  than  the 
other.  The  apprehension  of  the  relations  of  whole  magnitudes, 
without  our  having  measured  the  magnitudes  by  a  smaller 
scale-unit,  and  without  our  having  ascertained  the  absolute  dif- 
ference between  them,  is  a  most  interesting  psychological  phe- 
nomenon. In  music  we  apprehend  the  relations  of  tone,  without 
knowing  their  rate  of  vibration  [i.e.,  their  absolute  pitch];  in 
architecture,  the  relation  of  spatial  magnitudes,  without  hav- 
ing determined  them  by  inches;  and  in  the  same  way  we  ap- 
prehend the  magnitudes  of  sensation  or  of  force  in  the  com- 
parison of  weights. 


GUSTAV  THEODOR  FECHNER 

(1801-1887) 

ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOPHYSICS 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
HERBERT  SIDNEY  LANGFELD 

VII.  THE  MEASUREMENT  OF  SENSATION 

Weber's  law,  that  equal  relative  Increments  of  stimuli  are 
proportional  to  equal  increments  of  sensation,  is,  in  considera- 
tion of  its  generality  and  the  wide  limits  within  which  it  is  abso- 
lutely or  approximately  valid,  to  be  considered  fundamental 
for  psychic  measurement.  There  are,  however,  limits  to  its 
validity  as  well  as  complications,  which  we  shall  have  carefully 
to  examine  later.  Yet  even  where  this  law  ceases  to  be  valid  or 
absolute,  the  principle  of  psychic  measurement  continues*  to 
hold,  inasmuch  as  any  other  relation  between  constant  incre- 
ments of  sensation  and  variable  increments  of  stimulus,  even 
though  it  is  arrived  at  empirically  and  expressed  by  an  empir- 
ical formula,  may  serve  equally  well  as  the  fundamental  basis  for 
psychic  measurement,  and  indeed  must  serve  as  such  in  those 
parts  of  the  stimulus  scale  where  Weber's  law  loses  its  validity. 
In  fact  such  a  law,  as  well  as  Weber's  law,  will  furnish  a  differ- 
ential formula  from  which  may  be  derived  an  integral  formula 
containing  an  expression  for  the  measurement  of  sensation. 

This  is  a  fundamental  point  of  view,  in  which  Weber's  law, 
with  its  limitations,  appears,  not  as  limiting  the  application  of 
psychic  measurement,  but  as  restricted  in  its  own  application 
toward  that  end  and    beyond    which  application  the   general 

*  From  G.  F.  Fechner's  Elemente  der  Psyclwphysik,  Leipzig,  i860;  unverand. 
Aufl.  1889. 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOPHYSICS      563 

principle  of  psychic  measurement  nevertheless  continues  to  hold. 
It  is  not  that  the  principle  depends  for  its  validity  upon 
Weber's  law,  but  merely  that  the  application  of  the  law  is 
involved  in  the  principle. 

Accordingly  investigation  in  the  interest  of  the  greatest 
possible  generalization  of  psychic  measurement  has  not  essen- 
tially to  commence  with  the  greatest  possible  generalization  of 
Weber's  law,  which  might  easily  produce  the  questionable  in- 
chnation  to  generalize  the  law  beyond  its  natural  limitation,  or 
which  might  call  forth  the  objection  that  the  law  was  general- 
ized beyond  these  limits  solely  in  the  interest  of  psychic  meas- 
urement; but  rather  it  may  quite  freely  be  asked  how  far 
Weber's  law  is  applicable,  and  how  far  not;  for  the  three 
methods  which  are  used  in  psychic  measurement  are  applicable 
even  when  Weber's  law  is  not,  and  where  these  methods  are 
applicable  psychic  measurement  is  possible. 

In  short,  Weber's  law  forms  merely  the  basis  for  the  most 
numerous  and  important  applications  of  psychic  measurement, 
but  not  the  universal  and  essential  one.  The  most  general 
and  more  fundamental  basis  for  psychic  measurement  is  rather 
those  methods  by  which  the  relation  between  stimulus  incre- 
ments and  sensation  increment  in  general  is  determined, 
within,  as  well  as  without,  the  limits  of  Weber's  law;  and  the 
development  of  theee  methods  towards  ever  greater  precision 
and  perfection  is  the  most  important  consideration  in  regard 
to  psychic  measurement. 

And  yet  a  great  advantage  would  be  lost,  if  so  sinjple  a  law  as 
Weber's  law  could  not  be  used  as  an  exact  or  at  least  suffi- 
ciently approximate  basis  for  psychic  measurement;  just  such 
an  advantage  as  would  be  lost  if  we  could  not  use  the  Kepler 
law  in  astronomy,  or  the  laws  of  simple  refraction  in  the  theory 
of  the  dioptric  instruments.  Now  there  is  just  the  same  diffi- 
culty with  these  laws  as  with  Weber's  law.  In  the  case  of 
Kepler's  law  we  abstract  from  deviations.  In  the  case  of  simple 
lens  refraction  we  abstract  from  optical  aberration.  In  fact 
they  may  become  invalid  as  soon  as  the  simple  hypotheses  for 
which  they  are  true  no  longer  exist.   Yet  they  will  always  re- 


564        GUSTAV  THEODOR   FECHNER 

main  decisive  for  the  principle  relation  with  which  astronomy 
and  dioptrics  are  concerned.  Weber's  law  may  in  like  manner, 
entirely  lose  its  validity,  as  soon  as  the  average  or  normal  condi- 
tions under  which  the  stimulus  produces  the  sensation  are  un- 
realized. It  will  always,  however,  be  decisive  for  these  particu- 
lar conditions. 

Further,  just  as  in  physics  and  astronomy,  so  can  we  also 
in  psychic  measurement,  neglect  at  first  the  irregularities  and 
small  departures  from  the  law  in  order  to  discover  and  examine 
the  principle  relations  with  which  the  science  has  to  do.  The 
existence  of  these  exceptions  must  not,  however,  be  forgotten, 
inasmuch  as  the  finer  development  and  further  progress  of  the 
science  depends  upon  the  determination  and  calculation  of 
them,  as  soon  as  the  possibility  of  doing  so  is  given. 

The  determination  of  psychic  measurement  is  a  matter  for 
outer  psychophysics  and  its  first  applications  lie  within  its 
boundary;  its  further  applications  and  consequences,  however, 
extend  necessarily  into  the  domain  of  inner  psychophysics  and 
its  deeper  meaning  lies  there.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the 
stimulus  does  not  cause  sensation  directly,  but  rather  through 
the  assistance  of  bodily  processes  with  which  it  stands  in  more 
direct  connection.  The  dependence,  quantitatively  considered 
of  sensation  on  stimulus,  must  finally  be  translated  into  one  of 
sensation  on  the  bodily  processes  which  directly  underlie  the 
sensation  —  in  short  the  psycho-physical  processes;  and  the 
sensation,  instead  of  being  measured  by  the  amount  of  the 
stimulus,  wjill  be  measured  by  the  intensity  of  these  processes. 
In  order  to  do  this,  the  relation  of  the  inner  process  to  the  stim- 
ulus must  be  known.  Inasmuch  as  this  is  not  a  matter  of  direct 
experience  it  must  be  deduced  by  some  exact  method.  Indeed 
it  is  possible  for  this  entire  investigation  to  proceed  along  ex- 
act lines,  and  it  cannot  fail  at  some  time  or  other  to  obtain 
the  success  of  a  critical  study,  if  one  has  not  already  reached 
that  goal. 

Although  Weber's  law,  as  applied  to  the  relation  of  stimulus 
to  sensation,  shows  only  a  limited  validity  in  the  domain  of 
outer  psychophysics,  it  has,  as  applied  to  the  relation  of  sensa- 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOPHYSICS      565 

tion  to  kinetic  energy,  or  as  referred  to  some  other  function  of 
the  psycho-physical  process,  in  all  probability  an  unHmited 
validity  in  the  domain  of  inner  psychophysics,  in  that  all  excep- 
tions to  the  law  which  we  find  in  the  arousal  of  sensation  by 
external  stimulus,  are  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  the  stimu- 
lus only  under  normal  or  average  conditions  engenders  a  kinetic 
energy  in  those  inner  processes  proportional  to  its  own  amount. 
From  this  it  may  be  foreseen,  that  this  law,  after  it  has  been 
restated  as  a  relation  between  sensation  and  the  psycho- 
physical processes,  will  be  as  important,  general,  and  funda- 
mental for  the  relations  of  mind  to  body,  as  is  the  law  of  gravity 
for  the  field  of  planetary  motion.  And  it  also  has  that  simphcity 
which  we  are  accustomed  to  find  in  fundamental  laws  of 
nature. 

Although,  then,  psychic  measurement  depends  upon 
Weber's  law  only  within  certain  limitations  in  the  domain  of 
outer  psycho-physics,  it  may  well  get  its  unconditional  support 
from  this  law  in  the  field  of  inner  psychophysics.  These  are 
nevertheless  for  the  present  merely  opinions  and  expectations, 
the  verification  of  which  Hes  in  the  future. 

XIV.   THE   FUNDAMENTAL   FORMULA    AND   THE 
MEASUREMENT  FORMULA 

Although  not  as  yet  having  a  measurement  for  sensation,  still 
one  can  combine  in  an  exact  formula  the  relation  expressed  in 
Weber's  law,  —  that  the  sensation  difference  remains  constant 
when  the  relative  stimulus  difference  remains  constant,  —  with 
the  law,  established  by  the  mathematical  auxiliary  principle, 
that  small  sensation  increments  are  proportional  to  stimu- 
lus increments.  Let  us  suppose,  as  has  generally  been  done  in 
the  attempts  to  preserve  Weber's  law,  that  the  difference  be- 
tween two  stimuli,  or,  what  is  the  same,  the  increase  in  one 
stimulus,  is  very  small  in  proportion  to  the  stimulus  itself.  Let 
the  stimulus  which  is  increased  be  called  yS,  the  small  increase 
d^,  where  the  letter  d  is  to  be  considered  not  as  a  special  mag- 
nitude, but  simply  as  a  sign  that  d^  is  the  small  increment  of 


S66        GUSTAV  THEODOR  FECHNER 

iS.    This  already  suggests  the  differential  sign.    The  relative 

stimulus  increase  therefore  is  -w.  On  the  other  hand,  let  the 

sensation  which  is  dependent  upon  the  stimulus  yS  be  called 
7,  and  let  the  small  increment  of  the  sensation  which  results 
from  the  increase  of  the  stimulus  by  d^  be  called  dy,  where 
d  again  simply  expresses  the  small  increment.  The  terms  dff 
and  dy  are  each  to  be  considered  as  referring  to  an  arbitrary 
unit  of  their  own  nature. 
According  to  the  empirical  Weber's  law,  dy  remains  constant 

when  -g  remains  constant,  no  matter  what  absolute  values 

d^  and  y3  take;  and  according  to  the  a  priori  mathematical 
auxiliary  principle  the  changes  dy  and  d/3  remain  propor- 
tional to  one  another  so  long  as  they  remain  very  small.  The  two 
relations  maybe  expressed  together  in  the  following  equation: 

dy=-f       0) 

where  « is  a  constant  (dependent  upon  the  units  selected  for  7 
and  /3).  In  fact,  if  one  multiplies  ^d  and  yS  by  any  number,  so 
long  as  it  is  the  same  number  for  both,  the  proportion  remains 
constant,  and  with  it  also  the  sensation  difference  dy.  This  is 
Weber's  law.  If  one  doubles  or  triples  the  value  of  the  variation 
d^  without  changing  the  initial  value  yS,  then  the  value  of  the 
change  dy  is  also  doubled  or  tripled.   This  is  the  mathematical 

tr  JO 

principle.    The  equation  (iy=-o^  therefore   entirely  satisfies 

both  Weber's  law  and  this  principle;  and  no  other  equation 
satisfies  both  together.  This  is  to  be  called  the  fundamental 
formula,  in  that  the  deduction  of  all  consequent  formulas  will 
be  based  upon  it. 

The  fundamental  formula  does  not  presuppose  the  measure- 
ment of  sensation,  nor  does  it  establish  any;  it  simply  expresses 
the  relation  holding  between  small  relative  stimulus  incre- 
ments and  sensation  increments.  In  short,  it  is  nothing  more 
than  Weber's  law  and  the  mathematical  auxiliary  principle 
united  and  expressed  in  mathematical  symbols. 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOPHYSICS      567 

There  is,  however,  another  formula  connected  with  this 
formula  by  infinitesimal  calculus,  which  expresses  a  general 
quantitative  relation  between  the  stimulus  magnitude  as  a 
summation  of  stimulus  increments,  and  the  sensation  magni- 
tude as  a  summation  of  sensation  increments,  in  such  a  way, 
that  with  the  validity  of  the  first  formula,  together  with  the 
assumption  of  the  fact  of  limen,  the  vah'dity  of  this  latter 
formula  is  also  given. 

Reserving  for  the  future  a  more  exact  deduction,  I  shall 
attempt  first  to  make  clear  in  a  general  way  the  connection  of 
the  two  formulas. 

One  can  readily  see,  that  the  relation  between  the  increments 
d'y  and  d^  in  the  fundamental  formula  corresponds  to  the  rela- 
tion between  the  increments  of  a  logarithm  and  the  increments 
of  the  corresponding  number.  For  as  one  can  easily  convince 
oneself,  either  from  theory  or  from  the  table,  the  logarithm 
does  not  increase  by  equal  increments  when  the  corresponding 
number  increases  by  equal  increments,  but  rather  when  the 
latter  increases  by  equal  relative  amounts;  in  other  words,  the 
increases  in  the  logarithms  remain  equal,  when  the  relative  in- 
creases of  the  numbers  remain  equal.  Thus,  for  example,  the 
following  numbers  and  logarithms  belong  together: 


Number. 

Logarithm. 

10 

1. 000000 

II 

1.0413927 

TOO 

2.000000 

no 

2.0413927 

1000 

3.000000 

1 100 

3.0413927 

where  an  increase  of  the  number  10  by  i  brings  with  it  just  as 
great  an  increase  in  the  corresponding  logarithm,  as  the  increase 
of  the  number  100  by  10  or  1000  by  100.  In  each  instance  the 
increase  in  the  logarithm  is  0.0413927.  Further,  as  was  already 
shown  in  explaining  the  mathematical  auxiliary  principle,  the 
increases  in  the  logarithms  are  proportional  to  the  increases  of 


S68        GUSTAV  THEODOR   FECHNER 

the  numbers,  so  long  as  they  remain  very  small.  Therefore  one 
can  say,  that  Weber's  law  and  the  mathematical  auxiliary  prin- 
ciple are  just  as  valid  for  the  increases  of  logarithms  and  num- 
bers in  their  relation  to  one  another,  as  they  are  for  the  increases 
of  sensation  and  stimulus. 

The  fact  of  the  threshold  appears  just  as  much  in  the  relation 
of  a  logarithm  to  its  number  as  in  the  relation  of  sensation  to 
stimulus.  The  sensation  begins  with  values  above  zero,  not 
with  zero,  but  with  a  finite  value  of  the  stimulus  —  the  thres- 
hold ;  and  so  does  the  logarithm  begin  with  values  above  zero, 
not  with  a  zero  value  of  the  number,  but  with  a  finite  value  of 
the  number,  the  value  i,  inasmuch  as  the  logarithm  of  i  is 
equal  to  zero. 

If  now,  as  was  shown  above,  the  increase  of  sensation  and 
stimulus  stands  in  a  relation  similar  to  that  of  the  increase  of 
logarithm  and  number,  and,  the  point  at  which  the  sensation 
begins  to  assume  a  noticeable  value  stands  in  a  relation  to  the 
stimulus  similar  to  that  which  the  point  at  which  the  logarithm 
attains  positive  value  stands  to  the  number,  then  one  may 
also  expect  that  sensation  and  stimulus  themselves  stand  in  a 
relation  to  one  another  similar  to  that  of  logarithm  to  number, 
which,  just  as  the  former  (sensation  and  stimulus)  may  be 
regarded  as  made  up  of  a  sum  of  successive  increments. 

Accordingly  the  simplest  relation  between  the  two  that  we 
can  write  is  7  =  log  /3. 

In  fact  it  will  soon  be  shown  that,  provided  suitable  units  of 
sensation  and  stimulus  are  chosen,  the  functional  relation 
between  both  reduces  to  this  very  simple  formula.  Meanwhile 
it  is  not  the  most  general  formula  that  can  be  derived,  but  one 
which  is  only  valid  under  the  supposition  of  particular  units  of 
sensation  and  stimulus,  and  we  still  need  a  direct  and  absolute 
deduction  instead  of  the  indirect  and  approximate  one. 

The  specialist  sees  at  once  how  this  may  be  attained,  namely, 
by  treating  the  fundamental  formula  as  a  differential  formula 
and  integrating  it.  In  the  following  chapter  one  will  find  this 
done.  Here  it  must  be  supposed  already  carried  out,  and  those 
who  are  not  able  to  follow  the  simple  infinitesimal  deduction, 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOPHYSICS      569 

must  be  asked  to  consider  the  result  as  a  mathematical  fact. 
This  result  is  the  following  functional  formula  between  stimu- 
lus and  sensation,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the  measurement 
formula  and  which  will  now  be  further  discussed : 
7  =  K(log/8-logJ).         (2) 

In  this  formula  k  again  stands  for  a  constant,  dependent  upon 
the  unit  selected  and  also  the  logarithmic  system,  and  h  a  second 
constant  which  stands  for  the  threshold  value  of  the  stimulus, 
at  which  the  sensation  7  begins  and  disappears. 

According  to  the  rule,  that  the  logarithm  of  a  quotient  of  two 
numbers  may  be  substituted  for  the  difference  of  their  logar- 
ithms, .  .  .  one  can  substitute  for  the  above  form  of  the  meas- 
urement formula  the  following,  which  is  more  convenient  for 
making  deductions.  ^ 

7  =  K  log  ^  (3) 

From  this  equation  it  follows  that  the  sensation  magnitude  7 
is  not  to  be  considered  as  a  simple  function  of  the  stimulus 
value  /3,  but  of  its  relation  to  the  threshold  value  6,  where  the 
sensation  begins  and  disappears.  This  relative  stimulus  value, 

^  is  for  the  future  to  be  called  the  fundamental  stimulus  value, 

or  the  fundamental  value  of  the  stimulus. 

Translated  in  words,  the  measurement  formula  reads: 
The  magnitude  of  the  sensation  (7)  is  not  proportional  to  the 
absolute  value  of  the  stimulus  {^),  but  rather  to  the  logarithm  of 
the  magfiitude  of  the  stimulus,  when  this  last  is  expressed  in  terms 
of  its  threshold  value{b),  i.  e.  that  magnitude  considered  as  unit 
at  which  the  sensation  begins  and  disappears.  In  short,  it  is  pro- 
portional to  the  logarithm  of  the  fundamental  stimulus  value. 

Before  we  proceed  further,  let  us  hasten  to  show  that  that 
relation  between  stimulus  and  sensation,  from  which  the  meas- 
urement formula  is  derived,  may  be  correctly  deduced  in  turn 
from  it,  and  that  this  latter  thus  finds  its  verification  in  so  far 
as  these  relations  are  found  empirically.  We  have  here  at  the 
same  time  the  simplest  examples  of  the  application  of  the  meas- 
urement formula. 


570        GUSTAV  THEODOR  FECHNER      * 

The  measurement  formula  is  founded  upon  Weber's  law  and 
the  fact  of  the  stimulus  threshold ;  and  both  must  follow  in  turn 
from  it. 

Now  as  to  Weber's  law.  In  the  form  that  equal  increments  of 
sensation  are  proportional  to  relative  stimulus  increments,  it 
may  be  obtained  by  differentiating  the  measurement  formula, 
inasmuch  as  in  this  way  one  returns  to  the  fundamental  for- 
mula, which  contains  the  expression  of  the  law  in  this  form. 

In  the  form,  that  equal  sensation  differences  correspond  to 
equal  relations  of  stimulus,  the  law  may  be  deduced  in  quite  an 
elementary  manner  as  follows. 

Let  two  sensations,  whose  difference  is  to  be  considered,  be 
called  7  and  7',  and  the  corresponding  stimuli  y3  and  ^ .  Then 
according  to  the  measurement  formula 
y  =  K  (log  p  -  log  h) 
y  =  K  (logyS'-logft) 

and  likewise  for  the  sensation  difference 

y-y'  =  K(Iog^-log/3') 

or,  since  log  P  -  log  /?'  =  log  ^ 

y-y  =  Klog^,- 

From  this  formula  it  follows,  that  the  sensation  difference  7-7' 

is  a  function  of  the  stimulus  relation  -g, ,  and  remains  the  same 

no  matter  what  values  ^,  0  may  take,  so  long  as  the  relation 
remains  unchanged,  which  is  the  statement  of  Weber's  law. 

In  a  later  chapter  we  shall  return  to  the  above  formula  under 
the  name  of  the  difference  formula,  as  one  of  the  simplest  conse- 
quences of  the  measurement  formula. 

As  for  the  fact  of  the  threshold,  which  is  caused  by  the  sensa- 
tion having  zero  value  not  at  zero  but  at  a  finite  value  of  the 
stimulus,  from  which  point  it  first  begins  to  obtain  notice- 
able values  with  increasing  values  of  stimulus,  it  is  so  far  con- 
tained in  the  measurement  formula  as  7  does  not,  according 
to  this  formula,  have  the  value  zero  when  y9  =  0,  but  when  ^ 
is  equal  to  a  finite  value  h.    This  follows  as  well  from  equation 


ELEMENTS  OF  PSYCHOPHYSICS      571 

(2)  as  (3)  of  the  measurement  formula,  directly  from  (2),  and 
from  (3)  with  the  additional  consideration  of  the  fact,  that 

when  /3  equals  b,  log  t  equals  log  i,  and  log  1  =  0. 

Naturally  all  deduction  from  Weber's  law  and  the  fact  of 
the  threshold  will  also  be  deductions  from  our  measurement 
formula. 

It  follows  from  the  former  law,  that  every  given  increment  of 
stimulus  causes  an  ever  decreasing  increment  in  sensation  in 
proportion  as  the  stimulus  grows  larger,  and  that  at  high  values 
of  the  stimulus  it  is  no  longer  sensed,  while  on  the  other  hand, 
at  low  values  it  may  appear  exceptionally  strong. 

In  fact  the  increase  of  a  large  number  ^S  by  a  given  amount 
is  accompanied  by  a  considerably  smaller  increase  in  the  corre- 
sponding logarithm  7,  than  the  increase  of  a  small  number  /3  by' 
the  same  amount.'  When  the  number  10  is  increased  by  10, 
(that  is,  reaches  20),  the  logarithm  corresponding  to  10,  which 
is  I,  is  increased  to  1.3010.  When,  however,  the  number  1000 
is  increased  by  10,  the  logarithm  corresponding  to  1000,  namely 
3,  is  only  increased  to  3.0043.  In  the  first  case  the  logarithm  is 
increased  by  1-3  of  its  amount,  in  the  latter  case  by  about  1-700. 

In  connection  with  the  fact  of  the  threshold  belongs  the  de- 
duction, that  a  sensation  is  further  from  the  perception  thres- 
hold the  more  the  stimulus  sinks  under  its  threshold  value. 
This  distance  of  a  sensation  from  the  threshold,  is  represented  in 
the  same  manner  by  the  negative  values  of  7,  according  to  our 
measurement  formula,  as  the  increase  above  the  threshold  is 
represented  by  the  positive  values. 

In  fact  one  sees  directly  from  equation  (2),  that  when  /3  is 
smaller  than  b  and  with  it  log  /3  smaller  than  log  b,  the  sensa- 
tion takes  on  negative  values,  and  the  same  deduction  follows  in 

equation  (3) ,  in  that  p  becomes  a  proper  fraction  when  ^<Cb, 

and  the  logarithm  of  a  proper  fraction  is  negative. 

In  so  far  as  sensations,  which  are  caused  by  a  stimulus 
which  is  not  sufiicient  to  raise  them  to  consciousness,  are  called 
unconscious,  and  those  which  affect  consciousness  are  called 


572        GUSTAV  THEODOR  FECHNER 

conscious,  we  may  say  that  the  unconscious  sensations  are 
represented  in  our  formula  by  negative,  the  conscious  by  posi- 
tive values.  We  will  return  to  this  statement  in  a  sp)ecial  chap- 
ter (chapter  i8)  since  it  is  of  great  importance,  and  perhaps  not 
directly  evident  to  everyone.  For  the  present  I  shall  not  let  it 
detain  me  longer. 

According  to  the  foregoing  our  measurement  formula  corre- 
sp>onds  to  experience: 

1.  In  the  cases  of  equality,  where  a  sensation  difference 
remains  the  same  when  the  absolute  intensity  of  the  stimulus  is 
altered  (Weber's  law). 

2.  In  the  cases  of  the  thresholds,  where  the  sensation  itself 
ceases,  and  where  its  change  becomes  either  imperceptible  or 
barely  perceptible.  In  the  former  case,  when  the  sensation 
reaches  its  lower  threshold ;  in  the  latter  case,  when  it  becomes 
so  great  that  a  given  stimulus  increase  is  barely  noticed. 

3.  In  the  contrasting  cases,  between  sensations  which  rise 
above  the  threshold  of  consciousness  and  those  that  do  not 
reach  it,  —  in  short,  conscious  and  unconscious  sensations. 
From  the  above  the  measurement  formula  may  be  considered 
well  founded. 

In  the  measurement  formula  one  has  a  general  dependent  rela- 
tion between  the  size  of  the  fundamental  stimulus  and  the  size  of  the 
corresponding  sensation  and  not  one  which  is  valid  only  for  the 
cases  of  equal  sensations.  This  permits  the  amount  of  sensation  to 
be  calculated  from  the  relative  amounts  of  the  fundamental  stimu- 
lus and  thus  we  have  a  measurement  of  sensation. 


HERMANN  VON  HELMHOLTZ 

(1821-1894) 

A  MANUAL  OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL  OPTICS 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

THEORY  OF  COLOR  VISION 

Hypotheses.  The  facts  to  be  deduced  from  the  laws  of 
color-mixture,  that  three  constituents  of  sensation  which 
proceed  independently  of  one  another  are  produced  by  exter- 
nal stimulation,  have  received  their  more  definite  and  more  sig- 
nificant expression  in  the  hypotheses,  which  assume,  that  these 
different  constituents  are  excited  and  transmitted  in  dififerent 
portions  of  the  optic  nerve;  but  that  they  simultaneously  attain 
to  consciousness,  and  thereby,  so  far  as  they  have  become 
excited  from  the  same  place  of  the  retina,  they  are  also  localized 
in  the  same  place  of  the  field  of  vision. 

Such  a  theory  was  first  proposed  by  Thomas  Young.  ^  The 
more  detailed  development  of  it  is  essentially  conditioned  by 

*  From  H.  von  Helmholtz's  Handbuch  der  Physiologischen  Opiik.  Leipzig, 
1856-66;  ate.  umgearb.  Aufl.  Hamb.  u.  Lpz.  1896. 

1  Thomas  Young's  theory  of  color  vision  is  as  follows:  "From  three  simple 
sensations,  with  their  combinations,  we  obtain  seven  primitive  distinctions  of 
colours;  but  the  different  proportions,  in  which  they  may  be  combined,  afford  a 
variety  of  traits  beyond  all  calculation.  The  three  simple  sensations  being  red, 
green,  and  violet,  the  three  binary  combinations  are  yellow,  consisting  of  red  and 
green;  crimson,  of  red  and  violet;  and  blue,  of  green  and  violet;  and  the  seventh 
in  order  is  white  light,  composed  by  all  three  united.  But  the  blue  thus  produced, 
by  combining  the  whole  of  the  green  and  violet  rays,  is  not  the  blue  of  the  spect- 
rum, for  four  parts  of  green  and  one  of  violet  make  a  blue  differing  very  little 
from  green;  while  the  blue  of  the  spectrum  appears  to  contain  as  much  violet  as 
green :  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  red  and  blue  usually  make  a  purple,  deriving  its 
hue  from  the  predominance  of  the  violet."  Thomas  Young's  A  Course  of  Lee- 
tures  on  Natural  Philosophy.  Lond.  1807,  vol.  i,  p.  440. 


574        HERMANN  VON  HELMHOLTZ 

the  fact,  that  its  author  would  ascribe  to  the  sensitive  nerves  of 
the  eye  only  the  properties  and  capacities,  which  we  positively 
know  as  belonging  to  the  motor  nerves  of  men  and  of  animals. 
We  have  a  much  more  favorable  opportunity  to  discover  these 
latter  by  experiment  than  is  the  case  with  the  nerves  of  sensa- 
tion, since  we  are  able  comparatively  easily  and  definitely  both 
to  discern  and  to  measure  the  finest  changes  of  their  excitation 
and  excitability  by  means  of  the  contractions  occurring  in  the 
muscles,  and  their  changes.  What  we  furthermore  have  been 
able  to  ascertain  concerning  the  structure,  the  chemical  consti- 
tution, the  excitability,  the  conductivity,  and  the  electrical 
behavior  of  the  sensitive  nerves,  harmonises  so  perfectly  with 
the  corresponding  behavior  of  the  motor  nerves,  that  funda- 
mental differences  in  the  nature  of  their  activity  are  extremely 
improbable,  at  least  so  far  as  these  do  not  depend  upon  the  other 
organic  apparatus  connected  with  them,  upon  which  they  exert 
their  influence. 

Now  we  know  in  regard  to  motor  nerves  only  the  contrast 
between  the  state  of  rest  and  of  activity.  In  the  former  state 
the  nerve  can  remain  unaltered  a  long  time  without  important 
chemical  change  or  development  of  heat;  and  at  the  same  time 
the  muscle  dependent  upon  the  nerve  remains  lax.  If  we  stimu- 
late the  nerve,  heat  develops  in  it  material  changes,  electrical 
oscillations  are  shown,  and  the  muscle  is  contracted.  In  a 
cut  nerve-preparation  the  sensitiveness  is  quickly  lost,  prob- 
ably on  account  of  the  expansion  of  the  chemical  constituents 
necessary  for  activity.  Under  the  action  of  atmospheric  oxygen, 
or  better  still  of  the  arterial  blood  containing  oxygen,  the  sensi- 
tiveness is  wholly  or  partially  slowly  restored,  save  that  these 
processes  of  restoration  excite  contractions  of  the  muscle,  or 
changes  of  electrical  relation  in  nerve  and  muscle  coincident 
with  the  activity.  We  are  acquainted  also  with  no  external 
means  which  can  produce  this  process  of  restoration  so 
quickly  and  intensively,  and  which  can  permit  it  at  the  same 
time  so  suddenly  to  appear  and  again  to  cease,  as  would  be 
necessary,  if  this  process  were  to  serve  as  the  physiological 
basis  of  a  powerful  sensation  occurring  with  precision. 


MANUAL. OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL  OPTICS     575 

If  we  confine  our  assumptions  concerning  the  development  of 
a  theory  of  cplor  vision  to  the  properties  belonging  with  cer- 
tainty to  the  nerves,  there  is  presented  in  fairly  secure  outline 
the  theory  of  Thomas  Young. 

The  sensation  of  dark  corresponds  to  the  state  of  rest  of  the 
optic  nerve,  that  of  colored  or  white  light  to  an  excitement  of 
it.  The  three  simple  sensations  which  correspond  to  the  excite- 
ment only  of  a  single  one  of  the  three  nerve  systems,  and  from 
which  all  the  others  can  be  composed,  must  correspond  in  the 
table  of  colors  to  the  three  angles  of  the  color  triangle. 

In  order  to  assume  the  finest  possible  color  sensations  not 
demonstrable  by  objective  stimulus,  it  appears  appropriate  so 
to  select  the  angles  of  the  color  triangle  that  its  sides  include  in 
the  closest  possible  way  the  curves  of  the  colors  of  the  spectrum. 

Thomas  Young  has  therefore  assumed: 

1.  There  are  in  the  eye  three  kinds  of  nerve  fibres.  The  ex- 
citation of  the  first  produces  the  sensation  of  red ;  the  excitation 
of  the  second,  the  sensation  of  green;  the  excitation  of  the 
third,  the  sensation  of  violet. 

2.  Objective  homogeneous  light  excites  these  three  kinds  of 
fibres  with  an  intensity  which  varies  according  to  the  length 
of  the  wave.  The  fibres  sensitive  to  red  are  excited  most 
strongly  by  light  of  the  greatest  wave-length;  and  those  sensi- 
tive to  violet  by  light  of  the  smallest  wave-length.  Neverthe- 
less, it  is  not  precluded,  but  rather  to  be  assumed,  for  the  expla- 
nation of  a  series  of  phenomena,  that  each  color  of  the  spectrum 
excites  all  the  kinds  of  fibres,  but  with  different  intensity.  If  we 
suppose  in  Fig.  i  the  spectrum  colors  placed  horizontally  and  in 
their  natural  order,  beginning  from  red  R  up  to  violet  V,  the 
three  curves  may  represent  more  or  less  exactly  the  strength 
of  the  excitation  of  the  three  kinds  of  fibres:  no.  i  those  sensi- 
tive to  red;  no.  2  those  sensitive  to  green;  and  no.  3  those  sen- 
sitive to  violet. 

The  simple  red  excites  strongly  the  fibres  sensitive  to  red, 
and  weakly  the  two  other  kinds  of  fibres;  sensation:  red. 

The  simple  yellow  excites  moderately  the  fibres  sensitive  to 
red  and  green,  weakly  the  violet;  sensation:  red. 


576        HERMANN  VON  HELMHOLTZ 


The  simple  green  excites  strongly  the  fibres  sensitive  to  green, 
much  more  weakly  the  two  other  kinds;  sensation:  green. 

The  simple  blue  excites  moderately  the  fibres  sensitive  to 
green  and  violet,  weakly  the  red ;  sensation :  blue. 

The  simple  violet  excites  strongly  the  fibres  which  belong  to 
it,  and  weakly  the  others;  sensation:  violet. 

The  excitation  of  all  the  fibres  of  nearly  equal  strength  gives 
the  sensation  of  white,  or  of  whitish  colors. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  objected  at  first  view  to  this  hypothesis, 
that  three  times  the  number  of  nerve  fibres  and  nerve  endings 
must  be  presumed  than  in  the  older  assumption,  according  to 
which  each  separate  nerve  fibre  was  thought  capable  of  trans- 
mitting all  kinds  of  chromatic  excitations.  But  I  do  not  believe, 
that  in  this  connection  the  supposition  of  Young  is  in  contra- 
diction with  the  anatomical  facts.  An  hypothesis  was  previ- 
ously discussed,^  which  explains  the  accuracy  of  sight  by  the 
aid  of  a  much  smaller  number  of  visual  nerve  fibres,  than  the 
number  of  distinguishable  places  in  the  field  of  vision. 

The  choice  of  the  three  fundamental  colors  seems  at  first,  as 
we  have  observed,  somewhat  arbitrary.  Any  other  three  colors 
might  be  chosen  from  which  white  can  be  composed.  Young 
was  guided  probably  by  the  consideration  that  the  colors  at  the 
end  of  the  spectrum  appear  to  claim  a  privileged  position.  If  we 
were  not  to  select  these  it  would  be  necessary  to  take  for  one  of 
the  fundamental  colors  a  purple  shade,  and  the  curve  which  cor- 

»  Helmholtz's  Edb.  d.  Physiol.  Opiik.  2  Aufl.,  S.  264. 


MANUAL  OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL  OPTICS    577 

responds  to  it  in  the  foregoing  figure  {Fig.  i),  would  have  two 
maxima:  one  in  red,  and  the  other  in  violet. 

The  single,  circumstance,  which  is  of  direct  importance  in  the 
mode  of  sensation  and  appears  to  give  a  clue  for  the  determina- 
tion of  the  fundamental  colors,  is  the  apparent  greater  color- 
saturation  of  the  red  and  violet;  a  thing  which  also  manifests 
itself,  although  indeed  less  markedly,  for  green.  Since  we  style 
colors  the  more  saturated  the  farther  they  are  removed  from 
white,  we  must  expect  that  great  saturation  must  belong  partic- 
ularly to  those  colors  of  the  spectrum  which  produce  most 
purely  the  simplest  sensations  of  color.  In  fact,  these  colors,  if 
they  are  very  pure,  have  even  with  inferior  brilliancy,  some- 
thing of  an  intensively  glowing,  almost  dazzling  quality. 
There  are  especially  red,  violet,  or  blue  violet  flowers,  e.g.  of  the 
cameraria,  whose  colors  display  this  characteristic  blending  of 
darkness  and  brilliancy.  Young's  hypothesis  affords  for  this  a 
simple  explanation.  A  dark  color  can  cause  an  intensive  excita- 
tion of  one  of  the  three  nerve  systems,  while  the  corresponding 
bright  white  causes  a  much  weaker  excitation  of  the  same.  The 
difference  appears  analogous  to  that  between  the  sensation  of 
very  hot  water  upon  a  small  portion  of  the  skin  and  lukewarm 
water  striking  a  greater  surface. 

In  particular  violet  makes  upon  me  this  impression  of  a  deeply 
saturated  color.  But  inasmuch  as  the  strictly  violet  rays,  even 
when  they  occur  in  sunlight,  are  of  slight  intensity  and  are 
modified  by  fluorescence,  ultramarine  blue,  which  has  far  the 
advantage  of  greater  intensity  of  light,  produces  an  effect  ap- 
proximately equal  to  it.  The  strictly  pure  violet  of  the  spectrum 
is  very  little  known  among  the  laity,  since  the  violet  pigments 
give  nearly  always  the  effect  of  a  slight  admixture  of  red,  or 
appear  very  dark.  For  that  very  reason,  the  shades  of  the  ultra- 
marine blue  coming  near  to  the  violet  excite  the  general  atten- 
tion much  more,  are  much  better  known,  and  are  designated 
by  a  much  older  name,  —  that  of  blue,  —  than  the  violet  strictly 
so  called.  In  addition  one  has  in  the  deep  ultramarine  blue  of 
the  cloudless  sky  a  highly  imposing,  well  known,  and  constant 
example  of  this  color. 


578        HERMANN  VON  HELMHOLTZ 

In  this  fact  I  seek  the  reason  why  in  former  times  blue  has 
always  been  regarded  as  the  one  fundamental  color.  And  the 
more  recent  observers,  like  Maxwell  and  A.  Konig,  who  have 
sought  to  determine  the  composition  of  color,  have  also  in 
part  returned  to  it.  For  both  of  these  had,  to  be  sure,  a  more 
definite  reason  in  the  above  mentioned  elevation  of  the  curve 
of  the  colors  of  the  spectrum  in  violet. 

It  should  still  be  mentioned  that  the  Venetian  school  of 
painters,  which  creates  effects  chiefly  by  the  intense  richness  of 
its  color,  is  especially  fond  of  putting  in  juxtaposition  the  three 
colors,  red,  green,  and  violet. 

Furthermore,  I  decidedly  question  the  opinion  expressed  by 
various  investigators,  that  the  need  of  designating  primary 
sensations  has  manifested  itself  in  the  names  of  the  colors,  and 
that  these  might  therefore  give  a  clue  for  the  determination  of 
colors.  Our  forefathers  had  before  them  in  colors  a  domain  of 
vague  distinctions.  If  they  wanted  to  determine  sharp  degrees 
of  difference  they  had  first  of  all  to  look  for  good  old  examples 
of  striking  shade,  which  were  everywhere  known,  and  any- 
where observable.  The  names  for  red  led  back  to  the  Sanscrit 
rudhira  =  blood,  and  also  "red."  From  this  ipv6p&i^  rufus, 
ruber,  roth,  red,  etc.  For  "blue"  the  Greeks  have  irop^vpeo'i 
and  Kvdveo<i^  which  appear  to  refer  to  the  sea;  the  Latins 
cceruleus,  from  coelum,  the  sky;  the  Germans  "blau";  the 
English,  blue;  the  Dutch,  blau;  the  old  German,  blaw;  which 
appear  to  lead  to  the  English  "blow,"  that  is,  the  color  of  the 
air.  The  names  for  green  may  be  traced  back  to  vegetation, 
irpdalvo'i  (leek-green),  TrotuSe?  (grass-green),  viridis  from  vis, 
virescere  (to  grow  strong) ;  German:  green,  English:  green,  refer 
to  "grow." 

The  oldest  designations  of  color  were  very  vague:  ^av6&i 
appears  to  have  extended  from  golden  yellow  to  blue  green.  It 
was  clearly  a  difficult  task  to  fix  in  sharp  degrees  of  difference 
this  vague  domain.  To-day  even  it  is  difl&cult  for  gifted  children 
to  learn  the  names  of  colors.  One  should  not  infer  from  these 
facts  that  the  ancients  were  color  blind. 

That  from  the  series  of  colors  which  may  be  stimulated  by 


MANUAL  OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL  OPTICS    579 

objective  light,  it  is  impossible  to  select  three  which  can  be 
regarded  as  fundamental  sensations,  has  already  been  dis- 
cussed. For  this  very  reason  A.  Konig  and  C.  Dieterici  have 
distinguished  a  middle  section  of  the  spectrum,  the  colors  of 
which  we  can  no  longer  obtain  by  the  mixture  of  the  end-colors 
and  one  of  the  spectrum  colors  lying. within  it.  The  table  of 
colors  drawn  according  to  the  measurements  of  the  same  ob- 
servers reveals  the  same  fact  in  graphic  representation.  Just 
on  this  account  the  supposition  is  necessary  for  Thomas 
Young's  theory,  that  every  color  of  the  spectrum  excites  simul- 
taneously, even  though  in  dififerent  intensity,  not  merely  one, 
but  two  or  all  three,  of  the  three  nerve  systems  which  are  sensi- 
tive to  color.  At  best  the  hypothesis  of  simplicity  would  be 
permissible  for  the  end-colors  of  the  spectrum,  red  and  violet. 
But  precisely  in  the  case  of  violet  we  know,  that  the  fluores- 
cence of  the  retina  produced  by  the  violet  rays  must  vitiate  the 
sensation,  and  it  appears  to  me  not  improbable,  that  the  height 
of  the  curve  between  F  and  Y,  found  even  by  Maxwell,  is  con- 
ditioned by  the  fluorescence  of  the  retina. 

It  further  follows,  that  it  must  appear  theoretically  possible 
to  produce  sensations  of  more  saturated  colors  through  other 
conditions  of  excitation.  That  this  is  also  practically  possible, 
and  that  this  demand  can  be  actually  fulfilled  by  Young's 
theory,!  shall  have  to  explain  in  the  description  of  after-images. 

The  color  theory  of  Thomas  Young,  above  outlined,  is,  as 
compared  with  the  general  theory  of  nervous  activity  as  it  was 
worked  out  by  Johannes  Miiller,  a  more  special  application  of 
the  law  of  specific  sensations.  Corresponding  to  its  hypotheses 
the  sensations  of  red,  gteen,  and  violet  would  be  regarded  as 
determined  by  the  specific  energy  of  sensation  of  the  correspond- 
ing three  nerve  systems.  Any  sort  of  excitation  whatever, 
which  can  in  any  degree  excite  the  nerve  system  aforesaid, 
would  always  be  able  to  produce  in  it  only  its  specific  sensa- 
tion. As  for  the  cause  of  the  particular  quality  of  these  sensa- 
tions we  hardly  need  look  for  it  in  the  retina  or  the  constitution 
of  its  fibres,  but  in  the  activity  of  the  central  parts  of  the  brain 
associated  with  them. 


58o        HERMANN  VON  HELMHOLTZ 

I  have  up  to  the  present  kept  the  analysis  of  this  theory  relatively 
abstract  in  order  to  keep  it  as  free  as  possible  from  farther  hypothet- 
ical additions.  Nevertheless,  there  are  as  great  advantages  for  the 
certain  understanding  of  such  abstractions,  if  one  tries  to  imagine 
for  oneself  pictures  as  concrete  as  possible,  even  though  these  occa- 
sion many  a  presupposition  that  is  not  directly  necessary  for  the  na- 
ture of  the  case.  In  this  sense  I  permit  myself  to  set  forth  Young's 
theory  in  the  following  somewhat  more  manifest  form.  That  objec- 
tions to  these  additions  do  not  contradict  the  essence  of  Young's 
hypothesis,  I  have  no  need  to  explain. 

1.  Three  kinds  of  photochemically  decomposible  substances  are 
deposited  in  the  end  organs  of  the  visual  nerve  fibres,  which  have 
different  sensitiveness  for  the  different  parts  of  the  spectrum.  The 
three  color  values  of  the  colors  of  the  spectrum  depend  essentially 
upon  the  photochemical  reaction  of  these  three  substances  to  the 
light.  In  the  eyes  of  birds  and  reptiles  besides  colorless  cones  there 
occur  in  fact  rods  with  red,  and  rods  with  yellow-green,  drops  of  oil, 
which  might  produce  a  favoring  of  some  simple  light  in  their  action 
upon  the  back  element  of  these  formations.  In  the  case  of  human 
beings  and  other  mammals  nothing  similar  has  up  to  the  present 
time  been  found. 

2.  By  the  disintegration  of  all  the  substances  sensitive  to  light, 
the  nerve  fibre  laden  therewith,  is  set  into  a  state  of  excitation. 
There  is  only  one  kind  of  activity  capable  of  exciting  sensation  in 
every  nerve  fibre  which  accompanies  the  disintegration  of  the 
organic  substance  and  the  development  of  heat,  as  we  know  from 
our  study  of  the  nerves  of  muscles.  These  phenomena  in  the  three 
systems  of  fibres  are  probably  also  thoroughly  similar  one  to  the 
other.  They  act  differently  in  the  brain  only  for  the  reason  that  they 
are  united  to  different  functioning  parts  of  the  brain.  The  nerve 
fibres  need  here  as  everywhere  to  play  only  the  part  of  conducting 
wires,  by  which  entirely  similar  electric  currents  which  pass  through 
them  can  precipitate  or  call  forth  the  most  various  activities  in  the 
apparatus  connected  with  the  ends.  These  excitations  of  the  three 
systems  of  fibre  form  the  above  separated  three  elementary  excita- 
tions, provided  always  that  the  intensity  of  excitation,  for  which 
we  still  have  no  universally  valid  measure,  is  thereby  made  propor- 
tional to  the  strength  of  light.  This  does  not  prevent  the  intensity 
of  the  elementary  excitation  being  any  involved  function  whatever 
of  the  use  of  material  or  of  the  negative  variation  of  the  current  in 


MANUAL  OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL  OPTICS    581 

the  nerves,  which  latter  phenomena  might  occasionally  be  employed 
as  a  measure  of  excitation. 

3.  In  the  brain  the  three  systems  of  fibres  stand  in  alliance  with 
the  three  different  functioning  systems  of  ganglionic  cells,  which  are 
perhaps  spatially  so  close  to  one  another,  that  those  corresponding 
to  the  same  parts  of  the  retina  lie  close  together.  This  appears  to 
follow  from  recent  investigations  concerning  the  influence  of  lesions 
of  the  brain  upon  the  field  of  vision. 


EWALD  HERING 

(1834-       ) 

THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

FUNDAMENTAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  A  THEORY  OF 
LIGHT  SENSATION 

§  25.   PREFATORY  REMARKS 

Although  strictly  speaking  a  theory  of  light  sensation  has 
to  consider  all  visual  sensations,  I  mean  here  chiefly  to  con- 
sider only  the  sensations  of  white,  black,  and  the  transitions 
from  one  to  the  other,  that  is  to  say,  only  the  colorless,  or,  as  I 
have  termed  them  (§21),  white-black  sensations.  Later,!  shall 
enter  upon  a  special  discussion  of  color-sensations  in  the 
stricter  sense  of  that  term. 

Colors,  to  be  sure,  are  ever3rwrhere  intermingled,  and  espe- 
cially in  the  after-images  of  the  closed  eye;  but  I  shall  wholly 
disregard  color  in  all  such  more  or  less  colored  sensations,  and 
confine  myself  only  to  that  which  can  be  designated  as  the 
whitishness  or  blackishness  of  sensation.  Later  it  will  appear, 
that  this  special  consideration  of  the  sensations  of  colorless 
light  even  has  its  complete  theoretical  justification. 

The  sensation  of  white  or  colorless  light  has  been  regarded  as 
a  mixed  sensation,  because  it  is  produced  by  a  simultaneous 
effect  of  so  called  complementary  kinds  of  light  upon  the  retina. 
Nevertheless  we  see  simultaneously  in  white,  neither  yellow  and 
blue,  nor  red  and  green,  nor  any  other  two  complementary 

*  From  E.  Hering's  Zur  Lehre  vom  Lichtsinne,  {Sitzber.  Akad.  Wiss.  Wien, 
tnath.-naturw.  CI.,  lxvi-lxx.)  Wien.  1872-74;  ib.  1878. 


THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION      583 

colors,  but  at  most  the  white  shades  off  into  yellow  or  blue,  red 
or  green,  never,  however,  into  two  complementary  colors.  The 
designation  of  white,  therefore,  as  a  sensation  of  red  and  green, 
or  yellow  and  blue,  or  of  all  colors  simultaneously  mixed,  ap- 
pears inadmissible,  and  has  indeed  arisen  only  from  the  ab- 
stract confusion  of  sensations  with  their  causes.  Not  everyone, 
who  has  termed  white  a  mixed  sensation,  meant  to  say  that  the 
sensations  were  actually  mixed,  but  only,  that  in  order  to  excite 
the  sensation  of  white  we  must  mix  light  of  different  wave 
lengths.  This  sensation  aroused  by  the  simultaneous  reaction 
of  divers  kinds  of  rays  can  very  well  be  regarded  as  a  simple 
resultant  of  mingled  physical  causes. 

The  Young-Helmholtz  hypothesis  can  only  in  this  sense  be 
acceptable  to  a  certain  extent.  For  if  we  were  to  say  to  a  dis- 
interested person,  even  though  he  had  a  highly  developed  sense 
of  color  such  as  a  painter  has,  that  white  is  a  compound  sensa- 
tion in  which  one  perceives  not  only  simultaneously,  but  also 
with  equal  intensity,  red,  green,  and  violet,  he  would  reply  with 
an  incredulous  shake  of  the  head,  or,  if  he  felt  no  special  respect 
for  the  trustworthiness  of  science,  with  a  smile.  That  three  tones 
of  different  pitch  are  contained  in  a  triad,  everyone  hears  who 
is  skilled  in  music,  though  only  in  a  slight  degree;  but  no  one  is 
able,  try  as  he  may,  to  extract  the  sensations  of  red,  green,  and 
violet,  from  one  and  the  same  white. 

To  one,  who  enters  upon  the  investigation  of  his  visual 
sensations  without  physical  or  physiological  presuppositions, 
white  is  a  sensation  of  its  own  kind,  just  as  black,  red,  green, 
yellow,  and  blue.  Something  can  be  combined  with  the  white 
from  one  or  the  other,  or  even  from  several  of  the  last  men- 
tioned sensations  so  that  it  more  or  less  clearly  reminds  us  of 
them.  If,  however,  we  imagine  these  intermingled  traces  of 
other  sensations  to  be  absent,  a  sensation  is  left  of  an  entirely 
specific  and  pure  quality,  which  decidedly  gives  the  impression 
of  something  simple,  and  which  the  unprejudiced  sees  no  oc- 
casion whatever  to  regard  as  compound.  The  same,  moreover, 
is  quite  true  of  the  sensation  of  black. 

Since  the  physiologist  must  deem  all  sensations  as  conditioned 


S84  EWALD  HERING 

and  supported  by  physical  processes  of  the  nervous  system, 
because  otherwise  every  further  physiological  investigation 
would  be  useless,  he  must  also  accept  the  so-called  psycho- 
physical processes  or  movements,  which  correspond  to  the  sen- 
sations of  black,  of  white,  and  of  all  transitions  from  one  to  the 
other.  It  is  not  possible  to  say  as  yet  in  what  part  of  the  nerv- 
ous system  these  psychophysical  processes  are  to  be  conceived 
as  localized.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  somewhere  in  the  nervous 
apparatus  of  the  eye  and  the  parts  of  the  brain  standing  in 
functional  connection  therewith,  the  substance  must  be  sought 
with  whose  change  or  movement  sensation  is  connected.  This 
substance  we  might  designate  as  the  psychophysical  substance 
of  the  organ  of  sight  relative  to  the  brain.  It  will  be  shorter  to 
designate  it  as  the  visual  substance,  because  the  visual  sensa- 
tions are  connected  with  it  and  immediately  dependent  upon  it. 
Whether  this  visual  substance  is  to  be  sought  only  in  the  brain, 
or  likewise  in  the  nerves  of  sight,  and  in  the  retina,  and  in  what 
histological  constituents  of  the  same,  —  all  this  remains  out- 
side the  present  discussion. 

It  is  manifest,  that  we  can  draw  conclusions  at  first  only  from 
the  nature  and  course  of  our  visual  sensations  in  regard  to  the 
course  of  the  psychophysical  processes,  which  occur  in  the 
visual  substance;  for  with  these  the  sensations  are  to  be  re- 
garded as  immediately  and  legitimately  connected.  If  we  can 
determine  in  this  way  to  a  certain  extent  the  laws  of  psycho- 
physical reactions  in  the  visual  substance,  not  until  we  do  is  it 
in  order  for  us  to  seek  the  laws  of  functional  relation  between 
those  psychophysical  processes  and  the  vibrations  of  aether. 
The  reverse  method  which  proceeds  ftom  the  vibrations  of 
aether  has  led  heretofore  to  no  result,  so  far  as  it  has  dealt  not 
merely  with  the  vicissitudes  of  the  rays  of  light  in  the  optical 
media,  that  is  to  say  exclusively  with  an  application  of  phys- 
ical optics  to  the  eye.  We  know  nothing  at  all  of  what  takes 
place  after  the  light  waves  have  penetrated  the  retina.  On  the 
other  hand  we  certainly  obtain  through  numerous  physical 
investigations  the  most  valuable  conclusions  concerning  the 
relations  between  the  vibrations  of  aether  and  visual  sensa- 


THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION      585 

tions.  But  all  physiological  links  and  especially  their  psycho- 
physical processes  have  been  simply  ignored  in  these  investiga- 
tions, as  was  quite  appropriate  under  the  circumstances  of  a 
preliminary  research. 

Only  the  psychophysical  investigations,  especially  Fechner's, 
have  a  closer  regard  to  the  physiological  intermediaries,  espe- 
cially in  so  far  as  Fechner  proposed  a  law  of  functional  connec- 
tion between  the  psychophysical  movement  and  the  so  called 
intensity  of  sensations.  I  refer  to  that  psychophysical  law 
called  by  Fechner's  name,*  the  validity  of  which  I  must  chal- 
lenge not  merely  for  the  sense  of  sight,  but  for  the  domain  of  all 
the  senses. 

§  26.     THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PSYCHOPHYSICAL 
PROCESSES 

If  we  desire  to  form  an  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  psychophy- 
sical processes,  we  have  from  the  outset  a  choice  between  such 
inner  movements  of  the  psychophysical,  or  (briefly)  psychical 
substance,  as  occur  without  change  of  chemical  composition, 
and  such  movements  as  appear  to  be  at  the  same  time  changes 
of  chemical  composition.  The  physiologist  of  the  present  can 
nevertheless  no  longer  be  in  doubt  about  his  decision.  For  the 
general  physiology  of  the  nerves  has  sufficiently  proven,  that 
every  movement  or  activity  of  the  nervous  substance  changes 
it  at  once  chemically;  and  upon  the  hypothesis  of  chemical 
changes  all  our  ideas  of  changes  of  sensitiveness,  fatigue,  and 
recuperation  after  activity  are  based. 

How  Du  Bois-Reymond  t  could  propose  a  purely  physical 
hypothesis  concerning  processes  in  the  nerve-fibres  -becomes 
conceivable,  when  you  consider  that  he  aimed  in  reality  only 
at  the  explanation  of  what  the  multiplicator  testified  to  him 
about  the  processes  in  the  nerves.  If  he  had  had  for  the  changes 
of  the  nerve  as  fine  a  chemical  reagent,  as  he  possessed  in  the 

*  Supra,  p.  570. 

t  Cf.  Emil  du  Bois-Reymond's  Untenuchungen  iiber  thierische  ElectricitSt, 
Berlin,  1848-49. 


S86  EWALD  HERING 

multiplicator  an  electrical  one,  he  would  then  of  course  have 
proposed  a  chemical  hypothesis.  At  all  events,  the  hypothesis 
of  Du  Bois-Reymond  does  not  form  a  conclusive  objection 
against  my  affirmation,  that  according  to  our  present  knowledge 
the  activity  of  the  psychophysical  substance  is  not  easily  con- 
ceivable without  simultaneous  chemical  changes. 

The  hypothesis  developed  in  Fechner's  psychophysics,  ac- 
cording to  which  all  psychophysical  processes  are  regarded  as 
oscillatory  movements  of  a  substance  not  more  exactly  to  be 
designated  as  ponderable  or  imponderable,  also  cannot  be 
cited  against  the  above  affirmation.  For  first,  the  hypothesis 
according  to  the  whole  nature  of  the  case  rests  upon  only  an 
empirical  basis  which  up  to  the  present  is  very  narrow;  and 
secondly,  although  it  is  purely  mechanical,  it  still  permits  to  the 
chemical  processes  their  significance  in  psychical  happening, 
and,  so  to  speak,  includes  them. 

In  whatever  way  one  may  regard  these  questions  this  much 
is  certain,  that  the  continuous  existence  of  chemical  process  is 
in  every  living  and  consequently  sensitive  substance  a  fact,  and 
transformation  is  for  us  the  most  universal  known  characteris- 
tic of  living  things. 

So  much  in  the  way  of  proof  for  the  justification  by  prin- 
ciple of  the  following  theory,  which  is  related  primarily  to  the 
chemical  action  in  the  nerve  substance.  A  definite  view  as  to 
whether  we  actually  apprehend  in  this  chemical  action  the 
real  psychophysical  movement,  or  whether  an  intermediate 
link  intervenes,  as  it  were,  between  this  and  the  sensation,  I  do 
not  for  the  present  mean  to  have  said.  Furthermore,  it  was  by 
no  means  my  intention  in  this  brief  discussion  to  enter  up>on 
a  real  investigation  of  the  difficult  question  concerning  the 
nature  of  psychophysical  movement.  On  the  contrary,  it  was 
intended  only  to  show  that  the  physiologist  is  perfectly  right 
in  conceiving  the  life  of  the  nerve-substance  primarily  as 
chemical,  and  likewise  that  of  the  psychophysical  substance, 
which  even,  if  one  does  not  insert  a  new  and  completely  un- 
known link,  must  be  wholly  or  partially  identified  with  the 
nerve  substance. 


THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION      587 

§  27.    VISUAL  SENSATIOIV  AS  PSYCHICAL 

CORRELATE  OF  CHEMICAL  PROCESSES  IN  THE 

VISUAL  SUBSTANCE 

That  light  occasions  chemical  changes  in  the  nervous  ap- 
paratus of  the  visual  organ  will  probably  not  be  disputed  after 
what  has  been  said.  What  we  term  fatigue  and  in  general  change 
of  sensitivity  of  this  process  rest  according  to  the  universal 
view,  here  as  everywhere,  upon  chemical  change  of  a  sensitive 
substance.  Fechner  himself,  who  sought  to  develop  farther  the 
theory  of  resonance  proposed  by  the  physicists  Herschell, 
Melloni,  and  Seebeck,  for  the  excitation  of  the  retina  by  light, 
saw  occasion  to  take  account  of  the  chemical  influences  of  light 
upon  the  nerve  substance  and  to  include  them  in  his  reckoning.^ 

The  chemical  processes  occasioned  by  light  in  the  visual 
organ  were  first  regarded  as  localised  in  the  retina.  But  if  cer- 
tain parts  of  the  brain  participate  in  the  production  of  visual 
sensations  and  representations,  those  chemical  processes  of  the 
retina  must  on  their  part  also  occasion  chemical  changes  in  the 
substance  of  the  visual  nerve,  and  these  in  turn  in  the  substance 
of  the  brain.  Since,  however,  as  already  stated,  we  do  not  know 
whether  we  have  to  consider  the  entire  substance  of  the  visual 
organ,  or  only  a  part  of  it,  and  in  the  latter  instance  which  part, 
as  the  true  psychophysical  visual  substance,  we  must  for  the 
present  be  content  with  the  current  hypothesis,  that  the  vibra- 
tions of  aether  set  free  in  general  chemical  changes  in  the  nerv- 
ous visual  apparatus.  And  those  changes,  whether  the  series 
of  these  chemical  processes  be  long  or  short,  whether  it  be  com- 
posed of  similar  or  dissimilar  members,  lead  finally  to  sensation. 

Furthermore,  whatever  ideas  of  the  nature  and  place  of  the 
processes  occurring  in  the  visual  organ  investigators  enter- 
tained, one  thing  was  lacking  to  all:  viz.,  they  merely  conceived 
the  sensations  of  bright  or  white — color  here  too  I  entirely  dis- 
regard —  as  conditioned  by  and  based  upon  certain  changes  of 
the  visual  substance;  the  sensation  of  dark  or  black  in  reference 
*  Psychophysik,  n.  Theil,  §  283. 


588  EWALD  HERING 

to  its  physiological  or  psychophysical  correlate  was  entirely 
neglected.  How  this  came  about,  and  to  what  contradictions 
this  onesided  consideration  of  the  sensation  of  brightness  led,  I 
have  more  fully  set  forth  in  my  foregoing  chapter  (§  21-23). 
The  facts  there  developed  compel  us  henceforth  to  abandon 
this  onesided  attitude  in  the  investigation  of  the  visual  sensa- 
tions, and  to  give  an  equal  consideration  to  the  two  chief  varia- 
bles in  visual  sensation,  the  dark  or  black,  just  as  much  as  the 
bright  or  white. 

I  have  explained  in  §  21,  how  all  sensations  of  the  black-white 
series  of  sensations  appear  related  to  one  another  in  a  twofold 
manner,  and  have  in  common  two  different  kinds  of  factors, 
namely,  the  sensation  of  brightness  and  of  darkness,  the  black 
and  the  white.  I  have  also  set  forth  how  each  member  of  this 
sensation  series  can  be  characterised  by  the  relation  in  which 
both  these  factors  are  contained  in  the  given  sensation.  If  now 
we  ask  concerning  the  psychical  correlates  of  those  sensations, 
and  concerning  the  psychophysical  or  psychochemical  processes 
l)dng  at  their  basis;  not  only  does  the  hypothesis,  that  the 
physical  correlate  of  the  blackest  sensation  is  nothing  further 
than  the  lowest  degree  of  intensity  of  the  same  process  which 
conditions  in  its  highest  intensity  the  clearest  or  purest  white 
sensation,  have  nothing  in  its  favor,  but  even  appears  to  be 
extravagant  and  contradictory.  For  this  hypothesis  demands 
one  and  the  same  kind  of  psychophysical  process  for  two  clearly 
fundamentally  different  qualities  of  sensation.  But  our  entire 
psychophysics  is  based  upon  the  hypothesis,  that  there  exists 
a  certain  parallelism  between  physical  and  psychical  events, 
and  especially  that  to  different  qualities  of  sensation  there  cor- 
respond different  qualities  or  forms  of  psychophysical  phe- 
nomena.^ 

*  Although  this  ought  to  be  self  evident  to  everyone  who  accepts  a  legitimate 
functional  relation  between  psychical  and  physical,  between  sensation  and  nerve 
process,  it  still  has  often  been  forgotten,  and  even  Fechner,  although  he  is  guided 
by  the  same  presupposition,  nevertheless  makes,  as  I  deem,  too  little  application 
of  it.  Mach  styles  this  fundamental  presupposition  of  the  entire  psychophys- 
ics merely  as  "  a  heuristic  principle  of  psychophysical  research";  but  it  is  more, 
it  is  the  conditio  sine  qua  non  of  all  such  research,  if  it  is  to  bear  any  fruit.  Mach 


•  THEORY  OF  LIGHT   SENSATION      589 

If  we  do  not  desire,  therefore,  at  the  outset  to  introduce  in 
like  manner  into  this  difl&cult  domain  an  hypothesis  which 
stands  in  a  yet  unsolved  contradiction  to  the  fundamental 
presupposition  of  the  entire  science  of  psychophysics,  and  pro- 
bably furnishes  a  bad  precedent  for  other  wholly  capricious 
and  theoretically  improbable  hypotheses,  we  must  abandon 
the  present  current  view.  And  we  can  do  this  the  more  readily 
as  another  hypothesis  presents  itself  which  is  thoroughly  in 
accord  with  the  aforementioned  presupposition  of  psychophys- 
ics, and  at  the  same  time  satisfies  far  better  than  the  present 
theory  the  demands  which  must  be  taken  into  consideration 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  general  physiology  of  the  nerves. 
This  hypothesis  is  the  following: 

To  the  two  qualities  of  sensation,  which  we  designate  as  white 
or  bright  and  as  black  or  dark,  correspond  two  different  qtiali- 
ties  of  chemical  activity  in  the  visual  substance ;  and  to  the 
different  relations  of  brightness  or  intensity,  with  which  these 
two  sensations  appear  in  single  transitions  between  pure  white 
and  pure  black,  or  to  the  relations  in  which  they  appear  mixed, 
correspond  the  same  relations  of  intensities  of  those  two  psycho- 
physical processes. 

It  will  be  readily  acknowledged  after  reflection,  that  this 
hypothesis  is  the  simplest  there  is,  because  it  states  the  sim- 
plest formula  that  can  be  conceived  for  the  functional  connec- 
tion between  physical  and  psychical  phenomena. 

But  it  also  satisfies  every  demand  that  the  general  physio- 
remarks  {Uberd.  Wirk,d.  rauml,  Verlheil.  d.  Lichlreizes auf  die  Netzhaut.  Sitzungs- 
ber.d.  Akad.  52  Bd.,  1868).  "To  every  psychical  there  corresponds  a  physical, and 
the  reverse.  To  like  psychical  processes  there  correspond  like  physical,  to  unlike, 
unlike.  If  a  psychical  process  can  be  resolved  in  a  purely  psychological  way  into 
a  number  of  qualities  a,  b,  c,  there  will  correspond  to  these  likewise  an  equal 
number  of  different  physical  processes  a,  (3,  y.  To  all  details  of  the  psychical  there 
correspond  details  of  the  physical."  Barring  the  omission  from  the  statement,  of 
all  reference  to  the  fact  that  psychophysical  processes  of  very  different  size  can 
produce  the  same  sensation,  because  it  depends  everywhere  not  upon  the  abso- 
lute size  of  this  process,  but  solely  upon  their  reciprocal  relation  (cf.  5  29),  I  can 
entirely  accept  these  words  of  Mach. 

My  theory  of  the  spatial  sense  of  the  retina  was  founded  upon  the  same  princi- 
ple. Mach  is  the  only  one  who  has  concurred  in  its  fundamental  thought. 


590  EWALD  HERING 

logy  of  the  nerves  can  make.  We  must  suppose  a  substance  in 
the  nervous  visual  apparatus,  which  suffers  change  under  the 
influence  of  the  light  that  falls  upon  it,  and  this  change,  even 
though  it  may  be  characterised  as  physical,  is  nevertheless,  as 
the  physiology  of  the  nerves  must  assume,  at  the  same  time  a 
chemical  process.  If  the  action  of  the  light  ceases,  the  changed 
(more  or  less  exhausted)  substance  reverts  sooner  or  later  to  its 
original  condition.  This  reversion  can  in  turn  be  nothing  but 
a  chemical  change  in  the  opposite  direction.  If  the  occurring 
change  of  the  excitable  substance  under  the  direct  influence  of 
light  is  conceived  as  a  partial  consumption,  the  reversion  to  the 
former  condition  must  be  conceived  as  a  restitution;  and  if  the 
former  is  viewed  as  an  analytic  process,  the  latter  must  be 
viewed  as  a  synthetic  process. 

It  has  also  been  customary  to  designate  the  latter  process,  by 
means  of  which  the  living  organic  substance  again  restores  the 
loss  suffered  by  excitation  or  activity  as  assimilation,  and  I  will 
retain  this  expression.  Now  every  living  and  excitable  organic 
substance  forms  in  the  excitation  or  activity  according  to 
general  assumption  certain  chemical  products.  The  formation 
of  these  products  I  will  designate  analogously  as  the  process  of 
dissimilation. 

The  propositions  concerning  assimilation  {A)  and  dissimila- 
tion {D)  just  set  forth  are  derived  from  the  experiences  of  gen- 
eral physiology,  and  particularly  of  the  physiology  of  the 
nerves.  They  have,  therefore,  been  developed  wholly  inde- 
pendently of  our  hypothesis.  Granted  their  correctness,  it  is  by 
no  means  plausible,  that  merely  the  one  kind  of  chemical 
activity  in  the  visual  substance,  namely  dissimilation,  should 
have  a  psychophysical  significance,  but  the  other,  the  process 
of  assimilation,  none.  The  common  view,  that  the  chemical 
process  taking  place  under  the  direct  influence  of  light,  namely 
dissimilation,  is  alone  perceived,  is  clearly  onesided  and  unjusti- 
fied. On  the  contrary,  it  appears  from  the  outset  prop>er  to 
ascribe  an  equal  value  for  sensation  to  both  kinds  of  chemical 
process.  But  this  leads  to  none  other  than  the  hypothesis  above 
formulated.   For  we  need  only  to  make  this  hypothesis  still 


THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION      591 

more  precise,  by  saying,  that  the  dissimilation  of  the  visual 
substance  corresponds  to  the  sensation  of  white  or  bright,  and 
the  assimilation  of  the  visual  substance  to  the  sensation  of  black 
or  dark  ;  and  then  the  hypothesis,  as  I  shall  show,  satisfies  not 
only  the  facts  of  sensation,  but  also  the  demands  of  the  general 
physiology  of  the  nerves. 

If  my  hypothesis  is  correct  we  have  the  means,  through  the 
visual  sensations,  of  observing  closely  the  "  building  up"  process 
of  the  visual  substance,  and  its  two  principal  factors,  assimilation 
and  dissimilation.  We  do  not,  therefore,  deal  hereafter  only  with 
the  fact,  that  a  complex  of  sensations  is  transmitted  from  the 
eye  to  the  human  soul,  which  afterwards  moulds  it  into  present- 
ations by  the  aid  of  correct  or  false  judgments  or  inferences; 
but  what  comes  to  consciousness  as  visual  sensation  is  the 
physical  expression  or  the  conscious  correlate  of  the  chemical 
change  of  the  visual  substance. 

We  have,  therefore,  a  test  of  great  sensitiveness  for  this 
chemical  change,  namely  our  consciousness.  It  tells  us,  indeed, 
nothing  directly  concerning  the  nature  of  the  chemical  com- 
pounds or  disintegrations,  but  it  reveals  to  us  the  whole  tem- 
poral process  of  assimilation  and  dissimilation,  the  law  of  their 
dependence  upon  one  another  and  upon  the  vibrations  of  aether, 
the  elevation  and  depression  of  excitability  of  the  visual  sub- 
stance, and  the  dependence  of  these  changes  of  excitability 
upon  assimilation  and  dissimilation.  In  this  way  the  chapter  on 
visual  sensations  first  becomes  a  truly  integral  section  of 
physiology,  whereas  heretofore  it  necessarily  contained  more 
physical  and  philosophical,  than  strictly  physiological  dis- 
cussions. 

From  the  above  hypothesis  we  derive,  as  is  shown  in  what 
follows,  a  complete  series  of  propositions  concerning  fatigue, 
excitability,  chemical  change  of  the  visual  substance,  which  are 
in  harmony  with  certain  propositions  of  the  general  physiology 
of  the  nerves ;  but  we  are  able  also  in  addition  to  give  to  those 
propositions  in  part  a  more  precise  expression,  as  well  as  to  test 
certain  new  propositions,  which  follow  as  the  result  of  our 
hypothesis,  in  regard  to  other  excitable  substances.  In  brief,  a 


592  EWALD  HERING 

way  opens  up  for  the  further  development  of  the  general 
physiology  of  the  nerves,  also  of  the  physiology  of  the  **  ex- 
citable "  substances,  and  finally  of  the  doctrine  of  the  whole 
organic  life.  That  this  way  is  not  improbable,  I  hope  to  demon- 
strate in  later  chapters  on  several  subjects  in  physiology. 

We  have  employed  our  sense-perceptions  so  abundantly  in 
order  to  comprehend  our  external  world,  and  they  make  it 
serviceable  to  us;  let  us  now  employ  them  also  in  order  to  in- 
vestigate the  material  activity  of  our  own  body,  examining  first 
by  their  aid  what  we  feel,  not  as  the  external  objects  only  medi- 
ately, but  immediately,  that  is  to  say,  the  chemical  change  of 
our  nervous  system. 

§  28.    THE  DEDUCTION  OF  VARIOUS  COROL- 
LARIES 

In  my  fourth  chapter  I  derived  by  means  of  an  analysis  of 
visual  sensations,  independent  of  every  physical  or  physiolog- 
ical presupposition,  the  proposition,  that  every  sensation  of  col- 
orless light  is  determined  by  the  relation  of  the  perceptible 
black  to  the  simultaneous  perceptible  white  in  it,  and  that  this 
relation  determines  the  quality  —  brightness  or  darkness  —  of 
every  white-black  sensation. 

If  we  now  apply  to  this  problem  the  hypothesis  advanced  in 
the  preceding  section,  we  come  to  the  further  proposition  that 
the  quality  —  brightness  or  darkness  —  of  a  sensation  of 
colorless  light,  is  conditioned  by  the  relation  in  which  the  in- 
tensity or  extent  of  dissimilation  of  the  visual  substance  stands 
to  the  intensity  or  degree  of  its  simultaneous  assimilation. 

From  this  it  follows  further,  that  to  the  gray,  which  I  have 
designated  as  the  middle  or  neutral,  corresponds  that  condition 
of  the  visual  substance  in  which  dissimilation  and  assimilation 
are  in  equilibrium,  so  that  the  quantity  of  the  excitable  sub- 
stance remains  constant. 

Further  it  follows,  that  in  every  rather  bright  sensation  the 
dissimilation  is  greater  than  the  assimilation,  so  that  the 
excitable  substance  decreases;  and  the  more  rapidly,  the  greater 


THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION      593 

the  relation  3,  or  the  brighter  the  sensation  is,  and  so  much 

the  more,  the  longer  it  continues. 

On  the  contrary  it  follows,  that  in  every  sensation,  which  is 
darker  than  the  middle  gray,  the  dissimilation  is  smaller  than 
the  simultaneous  assimilation,  so  that  the  excitable  substance 
increases;  and,  indeed,  the  more  rapidly,  the  darker  the  sen- 
sation is,  and  so  much  the  more,  the  longer  it  continues. 

What  now  does  the  increase  or  decrease  of  the  excitable 
substance  signify? 

If  we  style  all  stipiuli  which  favor  the  dissimilation  of  the 
visual  substance,  stimuli  of  dissimilation  or  D  stimuli,  and  if  we 
borrow  from  general  physiology  the  proposition,  that  the  degree 
of  the  reaction  with  which  an  organ  responds  to  a  stimulus 
depends  among  other  things  upon  the  quantity  of  excitable 
substance  contained  in  it  and  affected  by  the  stimulus,  we  ar- 
rive at  the  farther  proposition,  that  the  degree  of  the  dissimila- 
tion conditioned  by  a.  D  stimulus  (e.g.,  light)  depends  not 
merely  upon  the  degree  of  the  stimulus,  but  also  upon  the  quan- 
tity of  the  excitable  substance  contained  at  any  time  in  the 
stimulated  portions  and  affected  by  the  stimulus. 

The  capacity  of  an  excitable  substance  to  become  excited  by 
stimuli,  that  is,  to  respond  to  these  stimuli  by  a  definite  chemi- 
cal process,  we  term  its  excitability.  Accordingly,  we  can  desig- 
nate the  capacity  of  the  visual  substance  to  react  upon  the  D 
stimuli  with  dissimilation  as  its  D  excitability,  and  can  now 
also  express  the  foregoing  proposition  as  follows: 

Every  increase  of  the  excitable  substance  conditions  an  en- 
hancement, and  every  decrease  a  depression,  of  the  D  excita- 
bility in  the  corresponding  part  of  the  visual  organ. 

It  follows  further,  that  the  sensation  of  medium  gray  condi- 
tions an  equilibrium,  every  rather  bright  sensation  a  decrease, 
every  rather  dark  sensation  an  increase,  of  the  D  excitability  of 
the  affected  part. 

If  sensations  of  different  degrees  of  brightness  or  darkness 
are  simultaneously  produced  in  two  places  of  nearest  equal 
D  excitability,  the  place  of  the  brighter  (less  dark)  sensa- 


594  EWALD  HERING 

tion  has  always  a  smaller  D  excitability  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
excitation,  than  the  place  of  the  less  bright  (darker)  sensation; 
and  it  makes  no  difiference  whether  one  or  both  sensations 
were  brighter  or  darker  than  the  neutral  gray.  Furthermore, 
the  remaining  difference  of  D  excitability  is  so  much  the 
greater,  as  the  difference  was  greater  between  the  brightness  of 
both  sensations,  or  between  the  values  of  the  two  corresponding 

relations  — ; —  and 


s+w         s'+w'' 

Since  according  to  what  has  been  said  the  degree  of  dissimi- 
lation is  always  dependent  on  the  one  hand  upon  the  degree  of 
the  stimulus,  and  upon  the  other  hand  upon  the  quantity  of  the 
excitable  substance  present  in  the  stimulated  part,  we  have  the 
right  from  the  outset  to  affirm,  that  the  assimilation  also  does 
not  always  occur  with  constant  intensity,  but  that  it  has  like- 
wise a  variable  degree  dependent  upon  definite  conditions. 

For  the  process  of  dissimilation  clearly  presupposes,  that  on 
the  one  hand  the  necessary  chemical  conditions,  that  is  to  say, 
certain  substances,  are  present;  and  on  the  other  hand  certain 
physical  conditions,  (such as  a  certain  temperature).  According 
as  whatever  assimilation  is  present  in  greater  or  less  degree,  it 
takes  place  more  quickly  and  more  abundantly,  or  more  slowly 
and  less  abundantly.  The  A  material  necessary  to  assimila- 
tion, present  in  the  visual  organ,  which  is  constantly  used  in 
assimilation  and  constantly  renewed  by  the  blood,  can  become 
more  or  less  exhausted  as  soon  as  its  consumption  is  greater  than 
the  simultaneous  restoration  from  the  blood.  For  the  degree  of 
the  assimilation  probably  also  depends  upon  the  quantity  of 
the  assimilative  excitable  substance  present  at  the  time.  From 
what  precedes  it  is  already  possible  quite  theoretically  to 
deduce  a  series  of  propositions  concerning  the  enhancement  or 
depression  of  the  capacity  for  assimilation  or  of  the  A  excita- 
bility, and  concerning  the  A  stimuli  in  contrast  with  the  D 
stimuli,  etc.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  refer  for  the  present  only  to 
such  propositions  from  the  general  nerve  physiology  as  are 
already  accepted,  and  shall  postpone  a  full  discussion  of  them 
until  later. 


THEORY  OF  LIGHT  SENSATION      595 


§  29.    THE  WEIGHT  OF  VISUAL  SENSATIONS 

If  the  brightness  or  darkness  of  a  sensation  of  colorless  light 
depends  solely  upon  the  relation  of  dissimilation  to  the  simul- 
taneous assimilation,  and  is  therefore  independent  of  the  abso- 
lute magnitude  of  the  corresponding  psychophysical  processes, 
the  question  arises,  what  is  the  significance  of  this  absolute 
magnitude.  Without  entering  here  more  closely  into  this  ques- 
tion, which  belongs  to  general  psychophysics,  I  shall  endeavor 
to  give  briefly  a  preliminary  answer. 

The  absolute  extent  of  a  given  psychophysical  process  deter- 
mines the  weight  —  to  introduce  here  a  new  expression  —  of  the 
corresponding  sensation.  If  two  simultaneous  psychophysical 
processes  of  different  quality  lie  at  the  basis  of  a  sensation,  as 
for  instance  the  gray,  then  the  sum  of  the  magnitudes  of  both 
processes  gives  the  weight  of  the  resulting  or  mixed  sensation. 
The  clearness,  with  which  every  single  relatively  simple  sensa- 
tion appears  in  such  a  compound  sensation,  depends  upon  the 
relation  in  which  its  individual  weight  stands  to  the  total  weight 
of  the  resulting  or  compound  sensation.  Thus,  as  we  saw,  the 
brightness  or  whitishness  of  a  gray  sensation  is  determined  by 
the  relation  of  the  weight  of  the  white  sensation  (or  the  degree 
of  dissimilation)  to  the  total  weight  of  the  gray  sensation,  that 
is,  to  the  sum  of  the  weights  of  the  white  and  of  the  black  sensa- 
tion, (or  of  the  degree  of  dissimilation  and  assimilation). 

If  a  compound  sensation,  e.g.,  gray,  is  in  itself  a  component  of 
a  still  more  complicated  compound,  e.g.,  of  gray-blue,  the  clear- 
ness, with  which  the  gray  emerges  in  this  sensation,  depends 
in  turn  upon  the  relation  in  which  the  weight  of  the  gray  sensa- 
tion stands  to  the  total-weight  of  the  gray-blue.  If,  for  example, 
in  such  a  sensation  the  blue,  white,  and  black  appear  with 
equal  clearness,  this  depends  upon  the  fact,  that  the  blue,  the 
white,  and  the  black  sensation  have  equal  weight.  We  can  also 
conceive  such  a  sensation  as  composed  of  two  parts  of  neutral 
gray  and  one  part  of  blue.  The  character  or  quality  of  a  sensa- 
tion is  therefore  independent  of  its  total  weight,  but  is  deter- 


596  EWALD  HERING 

mined  by  the  relation  of  the  individual  weights  of  the  simple  or 
relatively  simple  sensations  composing  it;  and  the  weight  of  a 
black-white  sensation  does  not  gain  significance  until  it  appears 
with  other  visual  sensations,  or  in  general  only  so  far  as  its 
relations  to  the  other  simultaneous  processes  come  into  con- 
sideration. 

The  well  informed  reader  must  have  recognised,  from  what 
has  already  been  said,  the  general  psychophysical  law,  from 
which  I  proceed  in  opposition  to  Fechner.  This  law  says, 
that  the  purity  or  clearness  of  any  sensation  or  presentation 
depends  upon  the  relation,  in  which  its  weight,  that  is,  the 
degree  of  the  corresponding  psychophysical  process,  stands  to 
the  total  weight  of  all  simultaneously  present  sensations  and  re- 
presentations,{or  however  else  one  may  denominate  the  psychi- 
cal states),  namely,  to  the  sum  of  the  degrees  of  all  corresponding 
psychophysical  processes. 

Most  of  the  sensations,  which  we  accept  as  simple,  are  highly  complex;  that 
partial  sensation,  which  has  the  greatest  weight,  gives  the  total  sensation  its 
character  and  name.  If  the  fragment  of  the  total  weight  of  a  sensation, 
belonging  to  one  of  its  components,  sinks  below  a  certain  value,  we  are  no 
longer  in  a  position  to  feel  these  components  as  such.  Nevertheless,  a  weak  com- 
ponent also  affects  a  sensation  and  determines  by  its  character  the  quality 
thereof.  Fechner  would  say  the  partial  sensation  remains  "below  the  threshold." 
Thus  every  visual  sensation,  as  I  shall  later  seek  to  prove,  is  composed  of  various 
simple  sensations,  and  if  I  have  here  presented  the  sensations  of  the  black-white 
series  as  only  binary  sensations,  it  has  been  done  provisionally  in  the  interest  of 
simplicity  of  treatment.  In  black  and  white  even  the  colors  simultaneously  per- 
ceived are  "  below  the  threshold  "  because  their  relative  weight  is  too  small. 


ERNST  MAGH 

(1838-       ) 

CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  THE  ANALYSIS  OF 
SENSATIONS 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
C.   M.  WILLIAMS 

THE   SENSATIONS   AS   ELEMENTS 

ANTIMETAPHYSICAL 

I.  The  splendid  success  achieved  by  physical  science  in  mod- 
ern times,  a  success  which  is  not  restricted  to  its  own  sphere 
but  embraces  that  of  other  sciences  which  employ  its  help,  has 
brought  it  about  that  physical  ways  of  thinking  and  physical 
modes  of  procedure  enjoy  on  all  hands  unwonted  prominence, 
and  that  the  greatest  expectations  are  associated  with  their 
employment.  In  keeping  with  this  drift  of  modern  inquiry, 
the  physiology  of  the  senses,  gradually  leaving  the  paths  which 
were  opened  by  men  like  Goethe,  Schopenhauer,  and  others, 
but  with  particular  success  by  Johannes  Miiller,  has  also  as- 
sumed an  almost  exclusively  physical  character.  This  tend- 
ency must  appear  to  us  as  not  exactly  the  proper  one,  when 
we  reflect  that  physics  despite  its  considerable  development 
nevertheless  constitutes  but  a  portion  of  a  larger  collective 
body  of  knowledge,  and  that  it  is  unable,  with  its  limited  in- 
tellectual implements,  created  for  limited  and  special  purposes, 
to  exhaust  all  the  subject-matter  of  science.  Without  renounc- 
ing the  support  of  physics,  it  is  possible  for  the  physiology  of 
the  senses,  not  only  to  pursue  its  own  course  of  development, 
but  also  to  afford  to  physical  science  itself  powerful  assistance; 

*  From  Beitrdge  zur  Analyse  der  Empfindungen.  Jena,  1886:  4  verm.  Aufl. 
1903.  Reprinted  from  E.  Mach's  Contributions  to  the  Analysis  of  Sensations, 
translated  by  C.  M.  Williams,  Chicago,  The  Open  Court  Publishing  Co.,  1897. 


598  ERNST  MACH 

a  point  which  the  following  simple  considerations  will  serve  to 
illustrate. 


2.  Colors,  sounds,  temperatures,  pressures,  spaces,  times, 
and  so  forth,  are  connected  with  one  another  in  manifold  ways; 
and  with  them  are  associated  moods  of  mind,  feelings,  and  voli- 
tions. Out  of  this  fabric,  that  which  is  relatively  more  fixed 
and  permanent  stands  prominently  forth,  engraves  itself  in  the 
memory,  and  expresses  itself  in  language.  Relatively  greater 
permanency  exhibit,  first,  certain  complexes  of  colors,  sounds, 
pressures,  and  so  forth,  connected  in  time  and  space,  which 
therefore  receive  special  names,  and  are  designated  bodies. 
Absolutely  permanent  such  complexes  are  not. 

My  table  is  now  brightly,  now  dimly  lighted.  Its  tempera- 
ture varies.  It  may  receive  an  ink  stain.  One  of  its  legs  may 
be  broken.  It  may  be  repaired,  polished,  and  replaced  part  for 
part.  But  for  me,  amid  all  its  changes,  it  remains  the  table  at 
which  I  daily  write. 

My  friend  may  put  on  a  different  coat.  His  countenance 
may  assume  a  serious  or  a  cheerful  expression.  His  complex- 
ion, under  the  efi"ects  of  light  or  emotion,  may  change.  His 
shape  may  be  altered  by  motion,  or  be  definitely  changed.  Yet 
the  number  of  the  permanent  features  presented,  compared 
with  the  number  of  the  gradual  alterations,  is  always  so  great, 
that  the  latter  may  be  overlooked.  It  is  the  same  friend  with 
whom  I  take  my  daily  walk. 

My  coat  may  receive  a  stain,  a  tear.  My  very  manner  of  ex- 
pression shows  that  we  are  concerned  here  with  a  sum-total  of 
permanency,  to  which  the  new  element  is  added  and  from  which 
that  which  is  lacking  is  subsequently  taken  away. 

Our  greater  intimacy  with  this  sum-total  of  permanency, 
and  its  preponderance  as  contrasted  with  the  changeable, 
impel  us  to  the  partly  instinctive,  partly  voluntary  and  con- 
scious economy  of  mental  representation  and  designation,  as 
expressed  in  ordinary  thought  and  speech.  That  which  is 
perceptually  represented  in  a  single  image  receives  a  single 
designation,  a  single  name. 


ANALYSIS  OF   SENSATIONS  599 

As  relatively  permanent,  there  is  exhibited,  further,  that 
complex  of  memories,  moods,  and  feelings,  joined  to  a  particu- 
lar body  (the  human  body),  which  is  denominated  the  "I"  or 
"  Ego."  I  may  be  engaged  upon  this  or  that  subject,  I  may  be 
quiet  or  animated,  excited  or  ill-humored.  Yet,  pathological 
cases  apart,  enough  durable  features  remain  to  identify  the  ego. 
Of  course,  the  ego  also  is  only  of  relative  permanency. 

After  a  first  survey  has  been  obtained,  by  the  formation  of 
the  substance-concepts  "  body"  and  "ego"  (matter .and  soul), 
the  will  is  impelled  to  a  more  exact  examination  of  the  changes 
that  take  place  in  these  relatively  permanent  existences.  The 
changeable  features  of  bodies  and  of  the  ego,  in  fact,  are  exactly 
what  moves  the  will  to  this  examination.  Here  the  component 
parts  of  the  complex  are  first  exhibited  as  its  properties.  A  fruit 
is  sweet;  but  it  can  also  be  bitter.  Also,  other  fruits  may  be 
sweet.  The  red  color  we  are  seeking  is  found  in  many  bodies. 
The  neighborhood  of  some  bodies  is  pleasant;  that  of  others, 
unpleasant.  Thus,  gradually,  different  complexes  are  found  to 
be  made  up  of  common  elements.  The  visible,  the  audible,  the 
tangible,  are  separated  from  bodies.  The  visible  is  analysed 
into  colors  and  into  form.  In  the  manifoldness  of  the  colors, 
again,  though  here  fewer  in  number,  other  component  parts  are 
discerned  —  such  as  the  primary  colors,  and  so  forth.  The 
complexes  are  disintegrated  into  elements. 

3.  The  useful  habit  of  designating  such  relatively  perma- 
nent compounds  by  single  names,  and  of  apprehending  them 
by  single  thoughts,  without  going  to  the  trouble  each  time  of  an 
analysis  of  their  component  parts,  is  apt  to  come  into  strange 
conflict  with  the  tendency  to  isolate  the  component  parts.  The 
vague  image  which  we  have  of  a  given  permanent  complex,  be- 
ing an  image  which  does  not  perceptibly  change  when  one  or 
another  of  the  component  parts  is  taken  away,  gradually  estab- 
lishes itself  as  something  which  exists  hy  itself.  Inasmuch  as  it 
is  possible  to  take  away  singly  every  constituent  part  without 
destroying  the  capacity  of  the  image  to  stand  for  the  totality 
and  of  being  recognised  again,  it  is  imagined  that  it  is  possible 


6oo  ERNST  MACH 

to  subtract  all  the  parts  and  to  have  something  still  remaining. 
Thus  arises  the  monstrous  notion  of  a  thing  in  itself,  unknow- 
able and  different  from  its  "  phenomenal"  existence. 

Thing,  body,  matter,  are  nothing  apart  from  their  complexes 
of  colors,  sounds  and  so  forth  —  nothing  apart  from  their  so- 
called  attributes.  That  Protean,  supposititious  problem,  which 
springs  up  so  much  in  philosophy,  of  a  single  thing  with  many 
attributes,  arises  wholly  from  a  mistaking  of  the  fact,  that 
summary  comprehension  and  precise  analysis,  although  both 
are  provisionally  justifiable  and  for  many  purposes  profitable, 
cannot  and  must  not  be  carried  on  simultaneously.  A  body 
is  one  and  unchangeable  only  so  long  as  it  is  unnecessary  to 
consider  its  details.  Thus  both  the  earth  and  a  billiard-ball 
are  spheres,  if  the  purpose  in  hand  permits  our  neglecting  de- 
viations from  the  spherical  form,  and  great  precision  is  not 
necessary.  But  when  we  are  obliged  to  carry  on  investigations 
in  orography  or  microscopy,  both  bodies  cease  to  be  spheres. 

4.  Man  possesses,  in  its  highest  form,  the  power  of  con- 
sciously and  arbitrarily  determining  his  point  of  view.  He  can 
at  one  time  disregard  the  most  salient  features  of  an  object, 
and  immediately  thereafter  give  attention  to  its  smallest  de- 
tails; now  consider  a  stationary  current,  without  a  thought  of  its 
contents,  and  then  measure  the  width  of  a  Fraunhofer  line 
in  the  spectrum ;  he  can  rise  at  will  to  the  most  general  abstrac- 
tions or  bury  himself  in  the  minutest  particulars.  The  animal 
possesses  this  capacity  in  a  far  less  degree.  It  does  not  assume 
a  point  of  view,  but  is  usually  forced  to  it.  The  babe  who  does 
not  know  its  father  with  his  hat  on,  the  dog  that  is  perplexed  at 
the  new  coat  of  its  master,  have  both  succumbed  in  this  con- 
flict of  points  of  view.  Who  has  not  been  worsted  in  similar 
plights?  Even  the  man  of  philosophy  at  times  succumbs,  as 
the  grotesque  problem,  above  referred  to,  shows. 

In  this  last  case,  the  circumstances  appear  to  furnish  a  real 
ground  for  justification.  Colors,  sounds,  and  the  odors  of  bod- 
ies are  evanescent.  But  the  tangible  part,  as  a  sort  of  constant 
durable  nucleus,  not  readily  susceptible  of  annihilation,  re- 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  6oi 

mains  behind;  appearing  as  the  vehicle  of  the  more  fugitive 
properties  annexed  to  it.  Habit,  thus,  keeps  our  thought  firmly 
attached  to  this  central  nucleus,  even  where  the  knowledge 
exists  that  seeing,  hearing,  smelling,  and  touching  are  inti- 
mately akin  in  character.  A  further  consideration  is,  that  ow- 
ing to  the  singularly  extensive  development  of  mechanical 
physics  a  kind  of  higher  reality  is  ascribed  to  space  and  time 
than  to  colors,  sounds,  and  odors;  agreeably  to  which,  the  tem- 
poral and  spatial  links  of  colors,  sounds,  and  odors  appear  to  be 
more  real  than  the  colors,  sounds,  and  odors  themselves.  The 
physiology  of  the  senses,  however,  demonstrates,  that  spaces 
and  times  may  just  as  appropriately  be  called  sensations  as 
colors  and  sounds. 

5.  The  ego,  and  the  relation  of  bodies  to  the  ego,  give  rise  to 
similar  pseudo-problems,  the  character  of  which  may  be  briefly 
indicated  as  follows: 

Let  those  complexes  of  colors,  sounds,  and  so  forth,  com- 
monly called  bodies,  be  designated,  for  the  sake  of  simplicity, 
hy  A  B  C  .  .  . ;  the  complex,  known  as  our  own  body,  which 
constitutes  a  part  of  the  former,  may  be  called  K  L  M  .  .  .  ; 
the  complex  composed  of  volitions,  memory-images,  and  the 
rest,  we  shall  represent  by  a  /3  7  .  .  .  Usually,  now,  the  com- 
plex a^y  .  .  .  K  L  M  .  .  .,  as  making  up  the  ego,  is  opposed 
to  the  complex  ^  5  C  .  .  .,  as  making  up  the  world  of  sub- 
stance ;  sometimes,  also,  a /3 7  ...  is  viewed  as  ego,  and  KLM 
.  .  .  A  B  C  .  .  .  2i?>  world  of  substance.  Now,  at  first  blush, 
ABC...  appears  independent  of  the  ego,  and  opposed  to  it 
as  a  separate  existence.  But  this  independence  is  only  relative, 
and  gives  way  upon  closer  inspection.  Much,  it  is  true,  may 
change  in  the  complex  a  /3  7  .  .  .  without  a  perceptible  change 
being  induced  mABC  .  .  . ;  and  vice  versa.  But  many  changes 
in  a/37  ...  do  pass,  by  way  of  changes  in  K  L  M  .  .  ., 
to  ABC  .  .  .  ;  a.nd  vice  versa.  (As,  for  example,  when  power- 
ful ideas  burst  forth  into  acts,  or  our  environment  induces 
noticeable  changes  in  our  body.)  At  the  same  time  the  group 
KLM...  appears  to  be  more  intimately  connected  with 


6o2  ERNST  MACH 

a^y  .  .  .  and  with  ABC  .  .  .,  than  the  latter  do  with  one 
another;  relations  which  find  their  expression  in  common 
thought  and  speech. 

Precisely  viewed,  however,  it  appears  that  the  group  ABC 
...  is  always  codetermined  hy  K  L  M.  A  cube  of  wood  when 
seen  close  at  hand,  looks  large;  when  seen  at  a  distance,  small; 
it  looks  different  with  the  right  eye  from  what  it  does  with  the 
left;  sometimes  it  appears  double;  with  closed  eyes  it  is  invis- 
ible. The  properties  of  the  same  body,  therefore,  appear  modi- 
fied by  our  own  body;  they  appear  conditioned  by  it.  But 
where,  now,  is  that  same  body,  which  to  the  appearance  is  so 
different  ?  All  that  can  be  said  is,  that  with  different  K  L  M 
different  ABC...  are  associated. 

We  see  an  object  having  a  point  5".  If  we  touch  S,  that  is, 
bring  it  into  connexion  with  our  body,  we  receive  a  prick.  We 
can  see  5,  without  feeling  the  prick.  But  as  soon  as  we  feel  the 
prick  we  find  5".  The  visible  point,  therefore,  is  a  permanent 
fact  or  nucleus,  to  which  the  prick  is  annexed,  according  to  cir- 
cumstances, as  something  accidental.  From  the  frequency  of 
such  occurrences  we  ultimately  accustom  ourselves  to  regard 
all  properties  of  bodies  as  "effects"  proceeding  from  perman- 
ent nuclei  and  conveyed  to  the  ego  through  the  medium  of 
the  body;  which  effects  we  call  sensations.  By  this  operation, 
however,  our  imagined  nuclei  are  deprived  of  their  entire  sen- 
sory contents,  and  converted  into  mere  mental  symbols.  The 
assertion,  then,  is  correct  that  the  world  consists  only  of  our 
sensations.  In  which  case  we  have  knowledge  only  of  sensa- 
tions, and  the  assumption  of  the  nuclei  referred  to,  or  of  a  re- 
ciprocal action  between  them,  from  which  sensations  proceed, 
turns  out  to  be  quite  idle  and  superfluous.  Such  a  view  can 
only  suit  with  a  half-hearted  realism  or  a  half-hearted  philo- 
sophical criticism. 

6.  Ordinarily  the  complex  a^y...KLM...is  contrasted 
as  ego  with  the  complex  ABC.  Those  elements  only  oi  A  BC 
.  .  .  that  more  strongly  alter  a  yS  7  .  .  .,  as  a  prick,  a  pain,  are 
wont  to  be  comprised  in  the  ego.  Afterwards,  however,  through 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  603 

observations  of  the  kind  just  referred  to,  it  appears  that  the 
right  to  annex  A  B  C  ...  to  the  ego  nowhere  ceases.  In  con- 
formity with  this  view  the  ego  can  be  so  extended  as  ultimately 
to  embrace  the  entire  world.  The  ego  is  not  sharply  marked  off, 
its  limits  are  very  indefinite  and  arbitrarily  displaceable.  Only 
by  failing  to  observe  this  fact,  and  by  unconsciously  narrowing 
those  limits,  while  at  the  same  time  we  enlarge  them,  arise,  in 
the  conflict  of  points  of  view,  the  metaphysical  difficulties  met 
with  in  this  connection. 

As  soon  as  we  have  perceived  that  the  supposed  unities 
"body"  and  "ego"  are  only  makeshifts,  designed  for  provis- 
ional survey  and  for  certain  practical  ends  (so  that  we  may 
take  hold  of  bodies, protect  ourselves  against  pain,  and  so  forth), 
we  find  ourselves  obliged,  in  many  profound  scientific  investi- 
gations, to  abandon  them  as  insufficient  and  inappropriate. 
The  antithesis  of  ego  and  world,  sensation  (phenomenon)  and 
thing,  then  vanishes,  and  we  have  simply  to  deal  with  the  con- 
nexion of  the  elements  a^y...ABC...KLM...., 
of  which  this  antithesis  was  only  a  partially  appropriate  and 
imperfect  expression.  This  connexion  is  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  the  combination  of  the  above-mentioned  elements  with 
other  similar  elements  (time  and  space).  Science  has  simply  to 
accept  this  connexion,  and  to  set  itself  aright  (get  its  bearings) 
in  the  intellectual  environment  which  is  thereby  furnished, 
without  attempting  to  explain  its  existence. 

On  a  superficial  examination  the  complex  a  ^y  .  .  .  appears 
to  be  made  up  of  much  more  evanescent  elements  than  ABC 
.  .  .  and  K  L  M  .  .  .  in  which  last  the  elements  seem  to  be 
connected  with  greater  stability  and  in  a  more  permanent  man- 
ner (being  joined  to  solid  nuclei  as  it  were).  Although  on  closer 
inspection  the  elements  of  all  complexes  prove  to  be  homogene- 
ous, yet  in  spite  of  the  knowledge  of  this  fact,  the  early  notion 
of  an  antithesis  of  body  and  spirit  easily  regains  the  ascendancy 
in  the  mind.  The  philosophical  spiritualist  is  often  sensible  of 
the  difficulty  of  imparting  the  needed  solidity  to  his  mind- 
created  world  of  bodies ;  the  materialist  is  at  a  loss  when  required 
to  endow  the  world  of  matter  with  sensation.  The  monistic 


6o4  ERNST  MACH 

point  of  view,  which  artificial  reflexion  has  evolved,  is  easily 
clouded  by  our  older  and  more  powerful  instinctive  notions. 

7.  The  difl&culty  referred  to  is  particularly  felt  in  the  follow- 
ing case.  In  the  complex^  5  C  .  .  .,  which  we  have  called  the 
world  of  matter,  we  find  as  parts,  not  only  our  own  body  KLM 
.  .  .,  but  also  the  bodies  of  other  persons  (or  animals)  K'  L'  M' 
.  .  .,  K"  L"  M"  .  .  .,  to  which,  by  analogy,  we  imagine  other 
a'  ^'  7'  .  .  .  ,  «"  ^"  1"  .  .  .,  annexed,  similar  to  a /S  7  ...  So 
long  as  we  deal  with  K'  V  M'  .  .  .,  we  find  ourselves  in  a 
thoroughly  familiar  province  at  every  point  sensorially  acces- 
sible to  us.  When,  however,  we  inquire  after  the  sensations  or 
feelings  appurtenant  to  the  body  K'  L'  M'  .  .  .,  we  no  longer 
find  the  elements  we  seek  in  the  province  of  sense:  we  add  them 
in  thought.  Not  only  is  the  domain  which  we  now  enter  far  less 
familiar  to  us,  but  the  transition  into  it  is  also  relatively  un- 
safe. We  have  the  feeling  as  if  we  were  plunging  into  an  abyss. 
Persons  who  adopt  this  method  only,  will  never  thoroughly  rid 
themselves  of  this  sense  of  insecurity,  which  is  a  frequent  source 
of  illusive  problems. 

But  we  are  not  restricted  to  this  course.  Let  us  consider, 
first,  the  reciprocal  relations  of  the  elements  of  the  complex 
ABC  .  .  .,  without  regarding  KLM...  (our  body).  All 
physical  investigations  are  of  this  sort.  A  white  bullet  falls 
upon  a  bell;  a  sound  is  heard.  The  bullet  turns  yellow  before  a 
sodium  lamp,  red  before  a  lithium  lamp.  Here  the  elements 
(ABC.  .  .)  appear  to  be  connected  only  with  one  another  and 
to  be  independent  of  our  body  (KLM  .  .  .).  But  if  we  take 
santonine,  the  bullet  again  turns  yellow.  If  we  press  one  eye 
to  the  side,  we  see  two  bullets.  If  we  close  our  eyes  entirely, 
we  see  none  at  all.  If  we  sever  the  auditory  nerve,  no  sound  is 
heard.  The  elements  ABC...,  therefore,  are  not  only  con- 
nected among  one  another,  but  also  with  KLM.  To  this  ex- 
tent, and  to  this  extent  only,  do  we  call  ABC.  .  .  sensations, 
and  regard  A  BC  a.s  belonging  to  the  ego.  In  this  way,  accord- 
ingly, we  do  not  find  the  gap  between  bodies  and  sensations 
above  described,  between  what  is  without  and  what  is  within, 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  605 

between  the  material  world  and  the  spiritual  worid.^  All  ele- 
ments ABC...^KLM...  constitute  a  single  coherent 
mass  only,  in  which,  when  any  one  element  is  disturbed,  all  is 
put  in  motion;  except  that  a  disturbance  mK  L  M  .  .  .  has 
a  more  extensive  and  profound  action  than  mABC.  A  magnet 
in  our  neighborhood  disturbs  the  particles  of  iron  near  it;  a 
falling  boulder  shakes  the  earth;  but  the  severing  of  a  nerve 
sets  in  motion  the  whole  system  of  elements. 

8.  That  traditional  gulf  between  physical  and  psychological 
research,  accordingly,  exists  only  for  the  habitual  stereotyped 
method  of  observation.  A  color  is  a  physical  object  so  long  as 
we  consider  its  dependence  upon  its  luminous  source,  upon  other 
colors,  upon  heat,  upon  space,  and  so  forth.  Regarding,  how- 
ever, its  dependence  upon  the  retina  (the  elements  KLM.  .  .  ) 
it  becomes  a  psychological  object,  a  sensation.  Not  the  sub- 
ject, but  the  direction  of  our  investigation,  is  different  in  the 
two  domains. 

Both  in  reasoning  from  the  observation  of  the  bodies  of  other 
men  or  animals,  to  the  sensations  which  they  possess,  as  well 
as  in  investigating  the  influence  of  our  own  body  upon  our  own 
sensations,  we  must  complete  observed  facts  by  analogy.  This 
is  accomplished  with  much  greater  readiness  and  certainty, 
when  it  relates,  say,  only  to  nervous  processes,  which  cannot  be 
fully  observed  in  our  own  bodies  —  that  is,  when  it  is  carried 
out  in  the  more  familiar  physical  domain  —  than  when  it  is 
made  in  connexion  with  psychical  processes.  Otherwise  there 
is  no  essential  difference. 

10.  Reference  has  already  been  made  to  the  different  char- 
acter of  the  groups  of  elements  designated  hy  A  B  C  .  .  .  and 
a^'y.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  we  see  a  green  tree  before  us, 
or  remember  a  green  tree,  that  is,  represent  a  green  tree  to  our- 
selves, we  are  perfectly  aware  of  the  difference  of  the  two  cases. 
The  represented  tree  has  a  much  less  determinate,  a  much  more 

*  Compare  my  Grundlinien  der  Lehre  von  den  Bewegungsempfindungen,  Leipsic, 
Engelmann,  1875,  P-  54« 


6o6  ERNST  MACH 

changeable  form;  its  green  is  much  paler  and  more  evanescent; 
and,  what  is  of  especial  note,  it  is  plainly  situated  in  a  dijjferent 
domain.  A.  movement  that  we  propose  to  execute  is  never  more 
than  a  represented  movement,  and  appears  in  a  different  sphere 
from  that  of  the  executed  movement,  which  always  takes  place 
when  the  image  is  vivid  enough.  The  statement  that  the  ele- 
ments A  and  a  appear  in  different  spheres,  means,  if  we  go  to 
the  bottom  of  it,  simply  this,  that  these  elements  are  united 
with  different  other  elements.  Thus  far,  therefore,  the  f unda- 
mental  constituents  of  ^  jB  C.  .  .,  ay37  .  .  .  would  seem  to  be 
the  same  (colors,  sounds,  spaces,  times,  motor  sensations.  .  .  )> 
and  only  the  character  of  their  connexion  different. 

Ordinarily  pleasure  and  pain  are  regarded  as  different  from 
sensations.  Yet  not  only  tactile  sensations,  but  all  other  kinds 
of  sensations,  may  pass  gradually  into  pleasure  and  pain.  Plea- 
sure and  pain  also  may  be  justly  termed  sensations.  Only  they 
are  not  so  well  analysed  and  so  familiar  as  the  common  sensa- 
tions. In  fact,  sensations  of  pleasure  and  pain,  however  faint 
they  may  be,  really,  make  up  the  contents  of  all  so-called  emo- 
tions. Thus,  perceptions,  ideas,  volition,  and  emotion,  in 
short  the  whole  inner  and  outer  world,  are  composed  of  a  small 
number  of  homogeneous  elements  connected  in  relations  of  vary- 
ing evanescence  or  permanence.  Usually,  these  elements  are 
called  sensations.  But  as  vestiges  of  a  one-sided  theory  inhere 
in  that  term,  we  prefer  to  speak  simply  of  elements,  as  we  have 
already  done.  The  aim  of  all  research  is  to  ascertain  the  mode 
of  connexion  of  these  elements.* 

II.  That  in  this  complex  of  elements,  which  fundamentally 
is  one,  the  boundaries  of  bodies  and  of  the  ego  do  not  admit  of 
being  established  in  a  manner  definite  and  sufficient  for  all  cases, 
has  already  been  remarked.  The  comprehending  of  the  elements 
that  are  most  intimately  connected  with  pleasure  and  pain, 
under  one  ideal  mental-economical  unity,  the  ego,  is  a  work  of 
the  highest  significance  for  the  intellect  in  the  functions  which 

*  Compare  the  note  at  the  conclusion  of  my  treatise,  Die  Geschichte  und  die 
Wurzel  dcs  Saizes  der  Erhallung  der  Arbeit,  Prague,  Calve,  1872.    , 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  607 

it  performs  for  the  pain-avoiding,  pleasure-seeking  will.  The 
delimitation  of  the  ego,  therefore,  is  instinctively  effected, 
is  rendered  familiar,  and  possibly  becomes  fixed  through  hered- 
ity. Owing  to  their  high  practical  value,  not  only  for  the  in- 
dividual, but  for  the  entire  species,  the  composites  "ego"  and 
"body"  assert  instinctively  their  claims,  and  operate  with  all 
the  power  of  natural  elements.  In  special  cases,  however,  in 
which  practical  ends  are  not  concerned,  but  where  knowledge 
is  an  object  in  itself,  the  delimitation  in  question  may  prove  to 
be  insufficient,  obstructive,  and  untenable.^ 

The  primary  fact  is  not  the  I,  the  ego,  but  the  elements  (sen- 
sations) .  The  elements  constitute  the  /.  That  /  have  the  sensa- 
tion green,  signifies  that  the  element  green  occurs  in  a  given 
complex  of  other  elements  (sensations,  memories).  When  / 
cease  to  have  the  sensation  green,  when  /  die,  then  the  ele- 
ments no  longer  occur  in  their  ordinary,  familiar  way  of  asso- 
ciation. That  is  all.  Only  an  ideal  mental-economical  unity, 
not  a  real  unity,  has  ceased  to  exist. 

If  a  knowledge  of  the  connexion  of  the  elements  (sensations) 
does  not  suffice  us,  and  we  ask.  Who  possesses  this  connexion 
of  sensations.  Who  experiences  the  sensations  ?  then  we  have 
succumbed  to  the  habit  of  subsuming  every  element  (every 
sensation)  under  some  unanalysed  complex,  and  we  are  fall- 
ing back  imperceptibly  upon  an  older,  lower  and  more  limited 
point  of  view. 

The  so-called  unity  of  consciousness  is  not  an  argument  in 
point.  Since  the  apparent  antithesis  of  real  world  and  perceived 
world  is  due  entirely  to  our  mode  of  view,  and  no  actual  gulf 

1  Similarly,  esprit  de  corps,  class  bias,  national  pride,  and  even  the  narrowest 
minded  local  patriotism  may  have  a  high  value,  for  certain  purposes.  But  such 
attitudes  will  not  be  shared  by  the  broad-minded  inquirer,  at  least  not  in  mo- 
ments of  research.  All  such  egoistic  views  are  adequate  only  for  practical  pur- 
poses. Of  course,  even  the  inquirer  may  succumb  to  habit.  Trifling  pedantries 
and  nonsensical  discussions,  the  cunning  appropriation  of  others'  thoughts,  with 
perfidious  silence  as  to  the  sources,  the  metaphorical  dysphagia  suffered  when 
recognition  must  be  given,  and  the  crooked  illumination  of  others'  performances 
when  this  is  done,  abundantly  show  that  the  scientist  and  scholar  have  also  the 
battle  of  existence  to  fight,  that  the  ways  of  science  still  lead  to  the  mouth,  and 
that  the  pure  quest  of  knowledge  in  our  present  social  conditions  is  still  an  ideal. 


6o8  ERNST  MACH 

exists  between  them,  a  rich  and  variously  interconnected  con- 
tent of  consciousness  is  in  no  respect  more  difficult  to  under- 
stand than  a  rich  and  diversified  interconnexion  of  the  world. 

If  we  regard  the  ego  as  a  real  unity,  we  become  involved  in 
the  following  dilemma :  either  we  must  set  over  against  the  ego 
a  world  of  unknowable  entities  (which  would  be  quite  idle  and 
purposeless),  or  we  must  regard  the  whole  world,  the  egos  of 
other  people  included,  as  comprised  in  our  own  ego  (a  proposi- 
tion to  which  it  is  difficult  to  yield  serious  assent). 

But  if  we  take  the  ego  simply  as  a  practical  unity,  put  to- 
gether for  purposes  of  provisional  survey,  or  simply  as  a  more 
strongly  coherent  group  of  elements,  less  strongly  connected 
with  other  groups  of  this  kind,  questions  like  those  above  dis- 
cussed will  not  arise  and  research  will  have  an  unobstructed 
future. 

In  his  philosophical  notes  Lichtenberg  says:  "We  become 
conscious  of  certain  percepts  that  are  not  dependent  upon  us; 
of  others  that  we  at  least  think  are  dependent  upon  us.  Where 
is  the  border-line?  We  know  only  the  existence  of  our  sensa- 
tions, percepts,  and  thoughts.  We  should  say,  //  thinks,  just 
as  we  say,  it  lightens.  It  is  going  too  far  to  say  cogito,  if  we 
translate  cogito  by  /  think.  The  assumption,  or  postulation,  of 
the  ego  is  a  mere  practical  necessity."  Though  the  method  by 
which  Lichtenberg  arrived  at  this  result  is  somewhat  different 
from  ours,  we  must  nevertheless  give  our  full  assent  to  his  con- 
clusion. 

12.  Bodies  do  not  produce  sensations,  but  complexes  of 
sensations  (complexes  of  elements)  make  up  bodies.  If,  to  the 
physicist,  bodies  appear  the  real,  abiding  existences,  whilst 
sensations  are  regarded  merely  as  their  envanescent,  transitory 
show,  the  physicist  forgets,  in  the  assumption  of  such  a  view, 
that  all  bodies  are  but  thought-symbols  for  complexes  of  sens- 
ations (complexes  of  elements).  Here,  too,  the  elements  form 
the  real,  immediate,  and  ultimate  foundation,  which  it  is  the 
task  of  physiological  research  to  investigate.  By  the  recogni- 
tion of  this  fact,  many  points  of  psychology  and  physics  as- 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  609 

sume  more  distinct  and  more  economical  forms,  and  many 
spurious  problems  are  disposed  of. 

For  us,  therefore,  the  world  does  not  consist  of  mysterious 
entities,  which  by  their  interaction  with  another,  equally  mys- 
terious entity,  the  ego,  produce  sensations,  which  alone  are 
accessible.  For  us,  colors,  sounds,  spaces,  times,  .  .  .  are  the 
ultimate  elements,  whose  given  connexion  it  is  our  business  to 
investigate.  In  this  investigation  we  must  not  allow  ourselves 
to  be  impeded  by  such  intellectual  abridgments  and  delimita- 
tions, as  body,  ego,  matter,  mind,  etc.,  which  have  been  formed 
for  special,  practical  purposes  and  with  wholly  provisional  and 
limited  ends  in  view.  On  the  contrary,  the  fittest  forms  of 
thought  must  be  created  in  and  by  that  research  itself,  just  as  is 
done  in  every  special  science.  In  place  of  the  traditional,  in- 
stinctive ways  of  thought,  a  freer,  fresher  view,  conforming  to 
developed  experience,  must  be  substituted. 

13.  Science  always  takes  its  origin  in  the  adaptation  of 
thought  to  some  definite  field  of  experience.  The  results  of  the 
adaptation  are  thought-elements,  which  are  able  to  represent 
the  field.  The  outcome,  of  course,  is  different,  according  to  the 
character  and  extent  of  the  province  surveyed.  If  the  province 
of  experience  in  question  is  enlarged,  or  if  several  provinces 
heretofore  disconnected  are  united,  the  traditional,  familiar 
thought-elements  no  longer  suffice  for  the  extended  province. 
In  the  struggle  of  acquired  habit  with  the  effort  after  adapta- 
tion, problems  arise,  which  disappear  when  the  adaptation  is 
perfected,  to  make  room  for  others  which  have  arisen  in  the 
interim. 

To  the  physicist,  qua  physicist,  the  idea  of  "body"  is  pro- 
ductive of  a  real  facilitation  of  view,  and  is  not  the  cause  of 
disturbance.  So,  also,  the  person  with  purely  practical  aims,  is 
materially  assisted  by  the  idea  of  the  /  or  ego.  For,  unques- 
tionably, every  form  of  thought  that  has  been  designedly  or 
undesignedly  constructed  for  a  given  purpose,  possesses  for  that 
purpose  a  permanent  value.  When,  however,  research  in  phy- 
sics and  in  psychology  meets,  the  ideas  held  in  the  one  domain 


6io  ERNST  MACH 

prove  to  be  untenable  in  the  other.  From  the  attempt  at  mu- 
tual adaptation  arise  the  various  atomic  and  monadic  theories 
—  which,  however,  never  attain  their  end.  If  we  regard  sens- 
ations, in  the  sense  above  defined,  as  the  elements  of  the  world, 
the  problems  referred  to  are  practically  disposed  of,  and  the 
first  and  most  important  adaptation  effected.  This  fundamen- 
tal view  (without  any  pretension  to  being  a  philosophy  for  all 
eternity)  can  at  present  be  adhered  to  in  all  provinces  of  expe- 
rience; it  is  consequently  the  one  that  accommodates  itself 
with  the  least  expenditure  of  energy,  that  is,  more  economically 
than  any  other,  to  the  present  temporary  collective  state  of  know- 
ledge. Furthermore,  in  the  consciousness  of  its  purely  econom- 
ical office,  this  fundamental  view  is  eminently  tolerant.  It  does 
not  obtrude  itself  into  provinces  in  which  the  current  concep*- 
tions  are  still  adequate.  It  is  ever  ready,  upon  subsequent 
extensions  of  the  domain  of  experience,  to  yield  the  field  to  a 
better  conception. 

The  philosophical  point  of  view  of  the  average  man  —  if  that 
term  may  be  applied  to  the  naive  realism  of  the  ordinary  indi- 
vidual — has  a  claim  to  the  highest  consideration.  It  has  arisen 
in  the  process  of  immeasurable  time  without  the  conscious  as- 
sistance of  man.  It  is  a  product  of  nature,  and  is  preserved  and 
sustained  by  nature.  Everything  that  philosophy  has  accom- 
plished —  the  biological  value  of  every  advance,  nay,  of  every 
error,  admitted  —  is,  as  compared  with  it,  but  an  insignificant 
and  ephemeral  product  of  art.  The  fact  is,  every  thinker,  every 
philosopher,  the  moment  he  is  forced  to  abandon  his  narrow 
intellectual  province  by  practical  necessity,  immediately  returns 
to  the  universal  point  of  view  held  by  all  men  in  common. 

To  discredit  this  point  of  view  is  not  then  the  purpose  of  the 
foregoing  "introductory  remarks."  The  task  which  we  have 
set  ourselves  is  simply  to  show  why  and  to  what  purpose  for  the 
greatest  portion  of  life  we  hold  it,  and  why  and  for  what  purpose 
we  are  provisorily  obliged  to  abandon  it.  No  point  of  view  has 
absolute,  permanent  validity.  Each  has  importance  only  for 
some  given  end.^ 

^  A  kindred  view  will  be  found  in  Avenarius,  Krilik  der  reinen  Erfahrung. 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  6ii 


THE  SPACE-SENSATIONS 

1 .  The  tree  with  its  hard,  rough  grey  trunk,  its  numberless 
branches  swayed  by  the  wind,  its  smooth  soft,  shining  leaves, 
appears  to  us  at  first  a  single,  indivisible  whole.  In  like  manner, 
we  regard  the  sweet,  round,  yellow  fruit,  the  warm,  bright  fire, 
with  its  manifold  moving  tongues,  as  a  single  thing.  One  name 
designates  the  whole,  one  word  draws  forth  from  the  depths  of 
oblivion  all  associated  memories,  as  if  they  were  strung  upon 
a  single  thread. 

The  reflexion  of  the  tree,  the  fruit,  or  the  fire  in  a  mirror  is 
visible,  but  not  tangible.  When  we  turn  our  glance  away  or 
close  our  eyes,  we  can  touch  the  tree,  taste  the  fruit,  feel  the 
fire,  but  we  cannot  see  them.  Thus  the  apparently  indivisible 
thing  is  separated  into  parts,  which  are  not  only  connected  with 
one  another  but  are  also  joined  to  other  conditions.  The  visible 
is  separable  from  the  tangible,  from  that  which  may  be  tasted, 

The  visible  also  appears  at  first  sight  to  be  a  single  thing. 
But  we  may  see  a  round,  yellow  fruit  together  with  a  yellow, 
star-shaped  blossom.  A  second  fruit  is  just  as  round  as  the  first, 
but  is  green  or  red.  Two  things  maybe  alike  in  color  but  unlike 
in  form ;  they  may  be  different  in  colour  but  like  in  form.  Thus 
sensations  of  sight  are  separable  into  color-sensations  and  space- 
sensations. 

2.  Color-sensation,  into  the  details  of  which  we  shall  not 
enter  here,  is  essentially  a  sensation  of  favorable  or  unfavor- 
able chemical  conditions  of  life.  In  the  process  of  adaptation  to 
these  conditions,  color-sensation  may  have  been  developed  and 
modified.  Light  introduces  organic  life.  The  green  chlorophyll 
and  the  (complementary)  red  hasmoglobin  play  a  prominent 
part  in  the  chemical  processes  of  the  plant-body  and  in  the  con- 
trary processes  of  the  animal  body.  The  two  substances  pre- 
sent themselves  to  us  in  the  most  varied  modifications  of  tint. 
The  discovery  of  the  visual  purple,  observations  in  photogra- 


6i2  ERNST  MACH 

phy  and  photochemistry  render  the  conception  of  processes  of 
sight  as  chemical  processes  permissible.  The  r61e  which  color 
plays  in  analytical  chemistry,  in  spectrum-analysis,  in  crystal- 
lography, is  well  known.  It  suggests  a  new  conception  for  the 
so-called  vibrations  of  light,  according  to  which  they  are  re- 
garded, not  as  mechanical,  but  as  chemical  vibrations,  as  suc- 
cessive union  and  separation,  as  an  oscillatory  process  of  the 
same  sort  that  takes  place,  though  only  in  one  direction,  in 
photo-chemical  phenomena.  This  conception,  which  is  sub- 
stantially supported  by  recent  investigations  in  abnormal  dis- 
persion, accords  with  the  electro-magnetic  theory  of  light.  In 
the  case  of  electrolysis,  in  fact,  chemistry  yields  the  most  in- 
telligible conception  of  the  electric  current,  regarding  the  two 
components  of  the  electrolyte  as  passing  through  each  other  in 
opposite  directions.  It  is  likely,  therefore,  that  in  a  future 
theory  of  colors,  many  biologico-psychological  and  chemico- 
physical  threads  will  be  united. 

3.  Adaptation  to  the  chemical  conditions  of  life  which  mani- 
fest themselves  in  color,  renders  locomotion  necessary  to  a  far 
greater  extent  than  adaptation  to  those  which  manifest  them- 
selves through  taste  and  smell.  At  least  this  is  so  in  the  case  of 
man,  concerning  whom  alone  we  are  able  to  judge  with  immed- 
iacy and  certainty.  The  close  association  of  space-sensation  (a 
mechanical  factor)  with  color-sensation  (a  chemical  factor)  is 
herewith  rendered  intelligible.  We  shall  now  proceed  to  the 
analysis  of  space-sensations. 

4.  In  examining  two  figures  which  are  alike  but  differently 
colored  (for  example,  two  letters  of  the  same  size  and  shape,  but 

of  different  colors),  we  recognise  their  sameness 
I  VT  19  °^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^  glance,  in  spite  of  the  differ- 
I  IN  ^ftM    ence  of  color-sensation.   The  sight-perceptions, 

' "^*    therefore,  must  contain   some  like  sensation- 

^*  *•  components.  These  are  the  space-sensations — 

which  are  the  same  in  the  two  cases. 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  613 

5.  We  will  now  investigate  the  character  of  the  space-sens- 
ations that  physiologically  condition  the  recognition  of  a  fig- 
ure. First,  it  is  clear  that  this  recognition  is  not  the  result 
of  geometrical  considerations  —  which  are  a  matter,  not  of 
sensation,  but  of  intellect.  On  the  contrary,  the  space-sensa- 
tions in  question  serve  as  the  starting-point  and  foundation 
of  all  geometry.  Two  figures  may  be  geometrically  congruent, 
but  physiologically  quite  different.  ... 

6.  In  what,  now,  does  the  essential  nature  of  optical  similar- 
ity, as  contrasted  with  geometrical  similarity,  consist?  In  geo- 
metrically similar  figures,  all  homologous  distances  are  propor- 
tional. But  this  is  an  affair  of  the  intellect,  not  of  sensation. 
If  we  place  beside  a  triangle  with  the  sides  a,  b,  c,  a  triangle 
with  the  sides  2a,  2b,  2c,  we  do  not  recognise  the  simple  rela- 
tion of  the  two  immediately,  but  intellectually,  by  measure- 
ment. If  the  similiarity  is  to  become  optically  perceptible,  the 
proper  position  must  be  added.  That  a  simple  intellectual  re- 
lationship of  two  objects  does  not  necessarily  condition  a  sim- 
ilarity of  sensation,  may  be  perceived  by  comparing  two  tri- 
angles having  respectively  the  sides  a,  b,  c,  and  a+m,  bi-m, 
c+m.  The  two  triangles  do  not  look  at  all  alike.  Similarly  all 
conic  sections  do  not  look  alike,  although  all  stand  in  a  simple 
geometric  relation  to  each  other;  still  less  do  curves  of  the  third 
order  exhibit  optical  similiarity;  etc. 

7.  The  geometrical  similarity  of  two  figures  is  determined 
by  all  their  homologous  lines  being  proportional  or  by  all  their 
homologous  angles  being  equal. 
But  to  appear  optically  similar 
the  figures  must  also  be  similarly 
situated,  that  is  all  their  homo- 
logous lines  must  be  parallel  or, 
as  we   prefer  to  say,  have   the 

same  direction  (Fig.  2).  By  likeness  of  direction,  accordingly, 
are  determined  like  space-sensations,  and  these  are  character- 
istic of  the  physiologico-optical  similarity  of  figures. 

We  may  obtain  an  idea  of  the  physiological  significance  of 


6i4  ERNST  MACH 

the  direction  of  a  given  straight  line  or  curve-element,  by  the 
following  reflexion.  Let  y  =  f  (x)  be  the  equation  of  a  plane 
curve.  We  can  read  at  a  glance  the  course  of  the  values  of  dy/dx 
on  the  curve,  for  they  are  determined  by  its  slope;  and  the  eye 
gives  us,  likewise,  qualitative  information  concerning  the  values 
of  d^y/dx^,  for  they  are  characterised  by  the  curvature.  The 
question  naturally  presents  itself  why  can  we  not  arrive  at  as 
immediate  conclusions  concerning  the  values  d^y/dx^,  d'^y/dx*, 
etc.  The  answer  is  easy.  What  we  see  are  not  the  differential 
coefl&cients,  which  are  an  intellectual  affair,  but  only  the  direc- 
tion of  the  curve-elements,  and  the  declination  of  the  direction 
of  one  curve-element  from  that  of  another. 

In  fine,  since  we  are  immediately  cognisant  of  the  similarity 
of  figures  lying  in  similar  positions,  and  are  also  able  to  distin- 
guish without  ado  the  special  case  of  congruity,  therefore  our 
space-sensations  yield  us  information  concerning  likeness  or  un- 
likeness  of  directions  and  equality  or  inequality  of  spatial  dimen- 
sions. 

8.  It  is  extremely  probable  that  sensations  of  space  are  pro- 
duced by  the  motor  apparatus  of  the  eye.  Without  entering 
into  particulars,  we  may  observe,  first,  that  the  whole  appara- 
tus of  the  eye,  and  especially  the  motor  apparatus,  is  symmet- 
rical with  respect  to  the  median  plane  of  the  head.  Hence, 
symmetrical  movements  of  looking  will  determine  like  or  ap- 
proximately like  space-sensations.  Children  constantly  con- 
found the  letters  b  and  d,  as  p  and  q.  Adults,  too,  do  not 
readily  notice  a  change  from  left  to  right  unless  some  special 
points  of  apprehension  for  sense  or  intellect  render  it  percept- 
ible. The  symmetry  of  the  motor  apparatus  of  the  eye  is  very 
perfect.  The  like  excitation  of  its  symmetrical  organs  would, 
by  itself  scarcely  account  for  the  distinction  of  right  and  left. 
But  the  whole  human  body,  especially  the  brain,  is  affected 
with  a  slight  asymmetry,  —  which  leads,  for  example,  to  the  pre- 
ference of  one  (generally  the  right)  hand,  in  motor  functions. 
And  this  leads,  again,  to  a  further  and  better  development  of 
the  motor  functions  of  the  right  side,  and  to  a  modification  of 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS  615 

the  attendant  sensations.  After  the  space-sensations  of  the  eye 
have  become  associated,  through  writing,  with  the  motor  func- 
tions of  the  right  hand,  a  confusion  of  those  vertically  symmet- 
rical figures  with  which  the  art  and  habit  of  writing  are  con- 
cerned no  longer  ensues.  This  association  may,  indeed,  become 
so  strong  that  remembrance  follows  only  the  accustomed  tracks, 
and  we  read,  for  example,  the  reflexion  of  written  or  printed 
words  in  a  mirror  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty.  The  con- 
fusion of  right  and  left  still  occurs,  however,  with  regard  to 
figures  which  have  no  motor,  but  only  a  purely  optical  (for  ex- 
ample, ornamental)  interest.  A  noticeable  difference  between 
right  and  left  must  be  felt,  moreover,  by  animals,  as  in  many 
predicaments  they  have  no  other  means  of  finding  their  way. 
The  similarity  of  sensations  connected  with  symmetrical  motor 
functions  is  easily  remarked  by  the  attentive  observer.  If,  for 
example,  supposing  my  right  hand  to  be  employed,  I  grasp  a 
micrometer-screw  or  a  key  with  my  left  hand,  I  am  certain  (un- 
less I  reflect  beforehand)  to  turn  it  in  the  wrong  direction,  — 
that  is,  I  always  perform  the  movement  which  is  symmetrical  to 
the  usual  movement,  confusing  the  two  because  of  the  similar- 
ity of  the  sensation.  The  observations  of  Heidenhain  regard- 
ing the  reflected  writing  of  persons  hypnotised  on  one  side 
should  also  be  cited  in  this  connexion. 

With  looking  upwards  and  looking  downwards,  fundament- 
ally different  space-sensations  are  associated,  as  ordinary  ob- 
servations will  show.  This  is,  moreover,  comprehensible,  since 
the  motor  apparatus  of  the  eye  is  asymmetrical  with  respect  to 
a  hori;iontal  plane.  The  direction  of  gravity  is  so  very  decisive 
and  important  for  the  motor  apparatus  of  the  rest  of  the  body 
that  the  same  factor  has  assuredly  also  found  its  expression  in 
the  apparatus  of  the  eye,  which  serves  the  rest.  It  is  well  known 
that  the  symmetry  of  a  landscape  and  of  its  reflexion  in  water  is 
not  felt.  The  portrait  of  a  familiar  personage,  when  turned 
upside  down,  is  strange  and  puzzling  to  a  person  who  does  not 
recognise  it  intellectually.  If  we  place  ourselves  behind  the 
head  of  a  person  lying  upon  a  couch  and  unreflectingly  give 
ourselves  up  to  the  impression  which  the  face  makes  upon  us, 


6i6  ERNST  MACH 

we  shall  find  that  it  is  altogether  strange,  especially  when  the 
person  speaks.  The  letters  b  and  p,  and  d  and  q,  are  not  con- 
fused by  children. 

Our  previous  remarks  concerning  symmetry,  similarity,  and 
the  rest,  naturally  apply  not  only  to  plane  figures,  but  also  to 
those  in  space.  Hence,  we  have  yet  a  remark  to  add  concern- 
ing the  sensation  of  space-depth.  Looking  at  objects  afar  off 
and  looking  at  objects  near  at  hand  determine  different  sensa- 
tions. These  sensations  must  not  be  confused,  because  of  the 
supreme  importance  of  the  difference  between  near  and  far, 
both  for  animals  and  human  beings.  They  cannot  be  confused 
because  the  motor  apparatus  is  asymmetrical  with  respect  to  a 
plane  perpendicular  to  the  direction  from  front  to  rear.  The 
observation  that  the  bust  of  a  familiar  personage  cannot  be 
replaced  by  the  mould  in  which  the  bust  is  cast  is  quite 
analogous  to  the  observations  consequent  upon  the  inversion 
of  objects. 

9.  If  equal  distances  and  like  directions  excite  like  space-sens- 
ations, and  directions  symmetrical  with  respect  to  the  median 
plane  of  the  head  excite  similar  space-sensations,  the  explana- 
tion of  the  above-cited  facts  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  straight 
line  has,  in  all  its  elements,  the  same  direction,  and  everywhere 
excites  the  same  space-sensations.  Herein  consists  its  aesthetic 
value.  Moreover,  straight  lines  which  lie  in  the  median  plane 
or  are  perpendicular  to  it  are  brought  into  special  relief  by  the 
circumstance  that,  through  this  position  of  symmetry,  they 
occupy  a  like  position  to  the  two  halves  of  the  visual  apparatus. 
Every  other  position  of  the  straight  line  is  felt  as  awryness,  or 
as  a  deviation  from  the  position  of  symmetry. 

The  repetition  of  the  same  space-figure  in  the  same  position 
conditions  a  repetition  of  the  same  space-sensation.  All  lines 
connecting  prominent  (noticeable)  homologous  points  have  the 
same  direction  and  excite  the  same  sensation.  Likewise  when 
merely  geometrically  similar  figures  are  placed  side  by  side  in 
the  same  positions,  this  relation  holds.  The  sameness  of  the 
dimensions  alone  is  absent.  But  when  the  positions  are  dis- 


ANALYSIS  OF  SENSATIONS        .   617 

turbed,  this  relation,  and  with  it,  the  impression  of  unity  — 
the  aesthetic  impression  —  are  also  disturbed. 

In  a  figure  symmetrical  with  respect  to  the  median  plane, 
similar  space-sensations  corresponding  to  the  symmetrical  di- 
rections take  the  place  of  the  identical  space-sensations.  The 
right  half  of  the  figure  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  the  right 
half  of  the  visual  apparatus  as  the  left  half  of  the  figure  does  to 
the  left  half  of  the  visual  apparatus.  If  we  alter  the  sameness 
of  the  dimensions,  the  sensation  of  symmetrical  similarity  is 
still  felt.  An  oblique  position  of  the  plane  of  symmetry  dis- 
turbs the  whole  effect. 

If  we  turn  a  figure  through  180°,  contrasting  it  with  itself  in 
its  original  position,  centric  symmetry  is  produced.  That  is,  if 
two  pairs  of  homologous  points  be  connected,  the  connecting 
lines  will  cut  each  other  at  a  point  O,  through  which,  as  their 
point  of  bisection,  all  lines  connecting  homologous  points  will 
pass.  Moreover,  in  the  case  of  centric  symmetry,  all  lines  of 
connexion  between  homologous  points  have  the  same  direction, 
—  a  fact  which  produces  an  agreeable  sensation.  If  the  same- 
ness of  the  dimensions  is  eliminated,  there  still  remains,  for 
sensation,  centrically  symmetrical  similarity. 

Regularity  appears  to  have  no  special  physiological  value, 
in  distinction  from  symmetry.  The  value  of  regularity  prob- 
ably lies  rather  in  its  manifold  symmetry,  which  is  perceptible 
in  more  than  one  single  position. 

10.  The  correctness  of  these  observations  will  be  apparent 
on  glancing  over  the  work  of  Owen  Jones  —  A  Grammar  of 
Ornament  (London,  1865).  In  almost  every  plate  one  finds 
new  and  different  kinds  of  symmetry  as  fresh  testimony  in 
favor  of  the  conceptions  above  advanced.  The  art  of  decora- 
tion, which,  like  pure  instrumental  music,  aims  at  no  ulterior 
end,  but  ministers  only  to  pleasure  in  form  (and  color),  is 
the  best  source  of  material  for  our  present  studies.  Writing 
is  governed  by  other  considerations  than  that  of  beauty. 
Nevertheless,  we  find  among  the  twenty-four  large  Latin  letters 
ten  which  are  vertically  symmetrical  (A,  H,  I,  M,  O,  T,  V, 


6i8  ERNST  MACH 

W,  X,  Y),  five  which  are  horizontally  symmetrical  (B,  C,  D, 
E,  K),  three  which  are  centrically  symmetrical  (N,  S,  Z),  and 
only  six  which  are  unsymmetrical  (F,  G,  L,  P,  Q,  R). 

II.  It  is  to  be  remarked  again  that  the  geometrical  and  the 
physiological  properties  of  a  figure  in  space  are  to  be  sharply 
distinguished.  The  physiological  properties  are  determined  by 
the  geometrical  properties  coincidently  with  these,  but  are  not 
determined  by  these  solely.  On  the  other  hand,  physiological 
properties  very  probably  gave  the  first  impulse  to  geometrical 
investigations.  The  straight  line  doubtless  attracted  attention 
not  because  of  its  being  the  shortest  line  between  two  points, 
but  because  of  its  physiological  simplicity.  The  plane  likewise 
possesses,  in  addition  to  its  geometrical  properties,  a  special 
physiologico-optical  (aesthetic)  value,  which  claims  notice  for 
it,  as  will  be  shown  later  on.  The  division  of  the  plane  and  of 
space  by  right  angles  has  not  only  the  advantage  of  producing 
equal  parts,  but  also  an  additional  and  special  symmetry-value. 
The  circumstance  that  congruent  and  similar  geometrical  fig- 
ures can  be  brought  into  positions  where  their  relationship  is 
physiologically  felt,  led,  no  doubt,  to  an  eariier  investigation  of 
these  kinds  of  geometrical  relationship  than  of  those  that  are 
less  noticeable,  such  as  affinity,  coUineation,  and  others.  With- 
out the  co-operation  of  sense-perception  and  understanding,  a 
scientific  geometry  is  inconceivable.  .  .  . 


CARL  STUMPF 

(1848-       ) 

THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE 

Translated  from  the  German'^  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

§  19.    THE  DEGREES  OF  TONAL  FUSION 

I.  What  tonal  fusion  is  and  what  it  is  not. 

It  has  already  been  mentioned  in  what  precedes,  that  not 
merely  do  simultaneous  as  contrasted  with  successive  tones 
enter  into  a  special  relation  in  sensation,  which  renders  their 
analysis  difficult,  but  that  also  there  are  differences  in  this 
respect  among  simultaneous  tones,  according  to  the  numerical 
ratio  of  their  vibrations.  We  must  now  turn  our  attention  to 
this  fact.  I  will  first  illustrate  it  by  two  extreme  examples. 

If  two  tones,  the  number  of  whose  vibrations  are  related  as 
1 :2,  are  simultaneously  produced,  they  can  be  very  imperfectly 
discriminated  in  comparison  with  the  case  where,  for  example, 
under  otherwise  precisely  similar  conditions,  the  ratio  is  as  40  lyy. 
When  I  say,  "  imperfectly,"  I  mean  that  the  question  is  not  as 
to  a  difficulty,  which  might  be  overcome  by  increased  attention 
and  practise,  but  as  to  an  unchangeable  characteristic  of  the  ma- 
terial of  sensation,  which  persists  even  after  all  other  obstacles  to 
an  analysis  have  been  removed,  and  which,  moreover,  after  the 
analysis  is  completed  and  the  tones  clearly  recognized  as  two, 
can  first  likewise  be  perceived  in  itself.  In  40:77  the  tones  in  the 
sensation  appear  so  to  speak  farther  apart  than  in  the  case  of 
1:2,  so  that  in  the  first  case  even  the  unmusical  person  is  less, 
or  not  at  all,  in  danger  of  taking  them  for  one;  whereas  on  the 
contrary,  the  octave  tones  cannot  be  kept  distinct  even  by  the 
*  From  C.  Stumpf  s  Tonpsychologie,  Leipzig,  1890,  Bd.  n. 


620  CARL  STUMPF 

most  delicate  and  practised  ear,  in  the  same  degree  as  those  of 
the  seventh,  or  of  the  unmusical  relation  40:77.  When  the  un- 
practised designate  simultaneous  octave  tones  as  one  tone, 
there  is  accordingly  a  double  hindrance  to  analysis,  namely: 
one  an  imperfect  practise,  and  the  other  in  the  tone  itself;  one, 
which  influences  the  judgment  directly,  and  the  other  which 
influences  the  sensation  and  in  consequence  of  it  the  judgment. 

What  is  most  essential  for  the  general  characterisation  of  the 
concept  oi  fusion,  as  we  understand  it,  has  been  fairly  exhausted 
in  what  has  been  said, ^  and  can  be  set  forth  still  more  clearly 
only  in  the  more  inclusive  range  of  a  imiversal  theory  of  rela- 
tions, which  is  one  of  the  most  urgent  needs  of  philosophical 
science.  We  term  fusion  that  relation  of  two  contents,  especially 
sensation-contents,  in  which  they  form  not  a  mere  sum,  but  a 
whole.  The  consequence  of  this  relation  is,  that  in  its  higher 
degrees  the  total  impression  under  otherwise  like  conditions 
approaches  more  and  more  that  of  a  single  unified  sensation, 
and  becomes  more  and  more  difficult  to  analyze.  These  results 
can  also  be  employed  for  a  definition,  and  we  can  say:  fusion  is 
that  relation  of  two  sensations  as  a  consequence  of  which*,  etc. 
But  in  either  way,  the  matter  would  remain  an  empty  concept 
for  everyone  to  whom  the  phenomena  in  question,  and  espe- 
cially the  phenomena  of  tones,  were  foreign.  The  real  truth  of 
the  assertion,  that  sensations  form  a  whole  and  approximate 
more  or  less  the  impression  of  a  single  unified  sensation,  can 
after  all  be  learned  only  by  means  of  examples. 

Nevertheless,  I  remark,  that  the  inclusion  of  the  concept  of 
tonal  fusion  under  that  more  general  quality  of  simultaneous 
as  opposed  to  successive  sensations,  of  which  we  have  elsewhere 
spoken,  is  not  indispensable  for  what  follows.  The  tonal  fusion 
will  acquire  for  us  more  and  more  an  interest  of  its  own,  inde- 
pendent of  the  questions  previously  discussed  (§16  and  17); 
and  would  also  claim  it  even  if  a  similar  relation  did  not  further 
occur  in  the  entire  domain  of  sensations.  It  is  far  from  being 
an  hypothesis  devised  for  the  solution  of  those  difficulties.  It  is 
a  sensuous  phenomena  which  was  observed  even  before  those 

*  Cf.  Stumpf's  Tonpsychologie,  p.  64  f. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE  621 

theoretical  difi&culties  appeared  within  the  intellectual  horizon. 
It  suffices  perfectly  for  the  attainment  of  the  concept  here 
necessary,  to  perceive  and  in  perceiving  to  contrast,  the  dif- 
ferences of  the  cases  which  exist  already  within  the  tonal  do- 
main, and  which  will  be  more  accurately  described  in  what  fol- 
lows. We  must  hear  and  compare  tonal  fusions,  just  as  we  must 
hear  and  contrast  tones,  in  order  to  know  what  a  tone  is. 

Perhaps,  however,  it  is  expedient  to  preclude  expressly  some 
misconceptions  which  the  term  fusion  might  occasion.  It  is 
precisely  one  of  those  psychological  expressions  which  have 
been  most  misused,  and  to  which  the  most  impossible  concep- 
tions and  entirely  fictitious  theories  have  become  attached. 
For  this  reason  I  have  chosen  it  with  reluctance,  owing  to  the 
lack  of  a  safer  and  at  the  same  time  more  specific  word. 

It  is  above  all,  therefore,  not  meant  by  fusion,  that  two  simul- 
taneous tones  coalesce  in  a  certain  unity  in  consciousness  only 
by  degrees,  however  quickly.  Fusion  signifies  to  us  here  not  a 
process,  but  a  present  relation.  I  would,  therefore,  rather  use 
"blend"  (Schmelz),  or  "coalescence"  (Schmalz),  if  this  had 
also  not  its  objections.  Such  expressions  also  as  "  to  separate  " 
(auseinandertreten)  etc.,  are  to  be  understood  in  this  sense  of 
an  already  existent  being;  just  as  they  are  likewise  used  in  the 
sense  of  rest  in  the  description  of  architectonic  forms. 

That  fusion  is  not  to  be  viewed  as  originating  a  third  tonal 
quality  in  addition  to  or  instead  of  the  other  two,  needs  no 
farther  amplification  after  what  has  preceded  (§16  and  17). 

Henceforth  we  must  reject  especially  the  metaphorical  use  of 
spatial  concepts.  The  naturalist  is  accustomed  to  think  of 
everything  by  the  aid  of  spatial  analogies;  and  psychologists 
also,  like  Herbart  and  Beneke,  who  desire  to  approach  the 
exactness  of  natural  science,  employ  them  most  extensively  for 
their  psychological  descriptions  (such  as,  falling  and  rising, 
overflowing,  etc.).  We  are  to  disregard  all  such  analogies  as 
might  erroneously  suggest  them.  Everything  extended  in  space 
is  either  outside,  or  identical  with  everything  else.  But  simul- 
taneous tones  afford  us  an  example  of  interpenetration ;  and, 
indeed,  an  interpenetration  of  a  lower  and  higher  degree.    The 


622  CARL  STUMPF 

lack  of  all  spatial  perceptibility  is  wholly  immaterial.  It  is, 
however,  wanting  in  the  relation  of  quality  and  intensity. 
Spatial  perceptivity  ceases  moreover  with  psychical  states  as 
such  (cf.  §  100-104).  The  concepts  here  too  must  be  adapted 
to  the  observations.  Only  a  contradiction  is  a  priori  an  im- 
possibility. But  that  the  two  tones  are  at  the  same  time  one, 
is  not  afl&rmed. 

In  general  the  difl&culties,  which  one  still  could,  and  will  find, 
in  the  concept  of  tonal  fusion,  as  it  is  here  understood,  are 
bound  to  be  of  a  similar  kind  and  origin  to  those  raised  from 
time  immemorial  against  the  concept  of  motion.  And  as  the 
physicist  gets  rid  of  these  after  the  example  of  Diogenes,  who 
stepping  from  his  tub  walked  about  with  a  "solvitur  ambu- 
lando,"  so  here  in  a  similar  manner  the  first  thing  we  have  to  do 
is  to  oppose  to  all  reasoning  a  "  solvitur  audiendo."  But  then 
here  as  there,  it  becomes  evident  that  the  difficulties  are 
avoided,  the  moment  that  the  mixture  of  heterogeneous  con- 
cepts is  avoided. 

Finally  it  is  to  be  remarked,  that  the  expression  and  concept 
of  fusion  stands  here  in  no  relation,  either  essentially  or  his- 
torically, with  the  general  psychological  doctrine  of  Herbart,  in 
which  "fusion"  plays  such  a  prominent  part;  and  which  for  the 
sake  of  clearness  everyone,  who  has  knowledge  of  it,  is  asked 
for  the  present  to  banish  from  his  mind.  In  a  subsequent  chap- 
ter, where  the  cause  and  origin  of  fusion  are  treated,  we  will 
attempt  to  show  how  far  Herbart's  theory  of  fusion  in  general, 
and  of  tonal  fusion  in  particular,  is  from  being  correct. 

Our  conception  of  fusion  has  also  not  many  points  of  contact 
with  the  ideas  which  have  been  brought  forward  under  the 
same  name  oftentimes  in  the  most  recent  psychology,  and 
in  my  judgment  on  every  occasion  is  in  contradiction  with  the 
truth. 


2.   The  Degrees  of  Fusion 

If  in  the  first  place  we  confine  ourselves  to  a  tonal  domain, 
which  is  limited  by  the  ratio  of  vibrations  1:2,  I  remark  the 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE  623 

following  degrees  of  different  tones,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest. 

First  the  fusion  of  the  octave  (1:2). 

Secondly  that  of  the  fifth  (2:3). 

Thirdly  that  of  the  fourth  (3:4). 

Fourthly  that  of  the  so-called  natural  thirds  and  sixths 
(4:5,  5:6,  3:5,  5:8),  between  which  I  find  in  this  respect  no 
clear  distinctions. 

Fifthly  that  of  all  the  remaining  musical  and  unmusical  tonal 
combinations,  which,  for  my  hearing  at  least,  offer  no  discern- 
ible differences  of  fusion,  but  on  the  contrary  all  the  least  degree 
of  it.  At  most  the  so-called  natural  seventh  (4:7)  could 
indeed  fuse  somewhat  more  than  the  others. 

If  we  employ  here  the  modern  names  of  the  intervals,  and  the 
general  expression  interval  itself,  we  do  so  not  in  any  musical 
sense  at  all,  but  only  to  have  a  known  and  short  term  for  the 
numerical  relations  of  vibrations  with  which  we  are  here 
concerned. 

When  we  speak  of  degrees  of  fusion,  we  mean  that  we  are 
dealing  with  the  degrees  of  differences,  which,  as  is  well  known, 
constantly  pass  over  into  one  another,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest  degree.  Further  we  make  use  also  of  the  general  expres- 
sion degrees  of  fusion. 

3.  The  Laws  of  Fusion 

The  dependence  of  the  degrees  of  fusion  upon  the  so-called 
ratio  of  vibrations  is  the  principal  law  of  tonal  fusion.  In  addi- 
tion to  it  stand  the  following: 

(a)  The  degree  of  fusion  is  independent  of  the  tonal  region. 
In  the  lowest  pitch,  where  analysis  meets  with  difficulties,  the 
recognition  and  comparison  of  degrees  of  fusion  become  natu- 
rally difficult  and  impossible.  But  where  it  is  possible,  we  find 
the  fusion  unchanged  with  the  change  of  pitch,  so  long  only  as 
the  ratio  of  vibrations  of  the  two  tones  remain  the  same. 

Only  in  the  very  highest  pitch,  approximating  about  4000 
vibrations,  that  is,  from  the  octave  five  tones  above  the  staff  up- 
ward, do  the  differences  of  fusion  appear  to  me,  so  far  as  I  have 


624  CARL  STUMPF 

yet  been  able  to  observe,  to  vanish.  With  tuning-forks  2000: 
3000  I  still  discern  with  full  clearness  the  fusion  of  the  fifth, 
whereas  with  3000:5000, 5000:10000,  etc.,  I  can  discern  only  the 
slightest  degree  of  fusion  at  all. 

{b)  The  degree  of  fusion  is  also  independent  of  the  strength, 
whether  indeed  it  be  the  absolute  or  the  relative  strength. 
That  it  is  not  changed  by  the  mere  change  of  the  absolute 
strength  of  the  two  tones  is  at  once  clear.  With  the  change  of 
relative  strength  it  is  again  noteworthy,  that  ultimately  ana- 
lysis becomes  impossible  with  great  difference  of  strength, 
since  the  softer  is  suppressed  by  the  stronger  tone,  so 
far  as  perception  or  even  sensation  is  concerned.  But  so  long 
as  they  remain  distinguishable,  I  cannot  notice  any  change  of 
the  degree  of  fusion.  For  example,  if  I  make  c  and  g  at  first  of 
equal  strength,  then  c  noticeably  stronger  than  g,  or  the 
reverse. 

(c)  The  degree  of  fusion  of  two  given  tones  is  in  no  way  influ- 
enced by  the  addition  at  pleasure  of  a  third  and  fourth  tone. 
Indeed,  a  consonance  is  so  much  the  less  easily  analyzed,  the 
more  tones  it  contains,  and  becomes  at  last  wholly  confused  and 
not  analysable.  But  so  long  as  two  tones  are  at  all  distinguish- 
able in  a  composite  sound,  their  fusion  also  is  recognised  as  the 
same  as  if  the  two  alone  were  sounded. 

In  this  proposition  together  with  (b) ,  there  is  also  expressed 
the  fact,  that  the  overtones  especially,  and  thereby  the  timbre, 
make  no  change  in  the  ratio  of  two  fundamental  tones  of  mus- 
ical sounds,  as  is  also  confirmed  by  direct  observation. 

(d)  As  in  general  the  changes  of  stimulus  below  a  certain 
degree  effect  no  perceptible  changes  of  sensation,  so  likewise 
very  minute  deviations  of  the  number  of  vibrations  from  the 
abovementioned  ratios  create  no  perceptible  change  of  the 
degree  of  fusion.  If  the  deviation  is  increased,  the  fusion  in  all 
pairs  of  tones  which  do  not  belong  to  the  very  lowest  degree 
of  fusion,  passes  into  this  degree  without  running  through  the 
intermediate  degrees,  if  any.  And  this  transition  occurs  the 
more  rapidly,  (with  the  smaller  relative  differences  of  vibra- 
tions), the  greater  was  the  initial  fusion. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE  625 

We  say,  as  is  known  in  the  case  of  small  but  perceptible  devi- 
ations, that  the  interval  is  "  out  of  tune  "  or  "  impure."  This 
saying  possesses,  as  we  may  remark  by  anticipation,  not 
merely  a  reference  to  the  disagreeable  feeling  which  is  only  a 
consequence  of  perception,  but  above  all  to  an  actual  and 
perceived  behavior  of  sensations. 

With  regard  to  the  size  of  the  deviation  in  which  the  change 
of  the  degree  of  fusion  is  discernible,  practise  besides  other  cir- 
cumstances (e.g.,  pitch)  makes  a  difference.  But  this  forms  no 
objection  to  the  definition  of  the  degree  of  fusion  as  a  fact  of 
sensation.  As  a  sensation  itself  can  change,  so  also  can  the  ratio 
of  two  sensations,  without  the  change  being  remarked;  and  this 
can  be  imperceptible  to  another  through  the  equality  of  sensa- 
tions, (not  merely  of  stimuli). 

(e)  The  fusion  remains  and  retains  its  degree  when  both 
tones  do  not  affect  the  same  ear,  but  one  is  presented  exclu- 
sively to  the  right,  the  other  exclusively  to  the  left.  A  tuning- 
fork  of  medium  pitch,  that  is  not  sounded  too  loud,  held  before 
one  ear  is  not  perceived  by  the  other,  as  we  discover  from  the 
fact,  that  if  the  first  is  stopped  up  nothing  is  heard.  If  now  we 
apply  two  forks  which  for  example  form  a  fifth,  one  to  each  ear, 
no  difference  is  observable  between  this  fusion,  and  the  percep- 
tion by  one  and  the  same  ear.  On  the  contrary,  the  analysis 
can  be  facilitated  by  this  process  (cf  §  23,  i  and  24,  a). 

(J)  Fusion  remains  also  in  the  mere  representation  of  the 
imagination.  If  I  merely  represent  c  and  g  as  sounding  at  the 
same  time,  I  can  conceive  them  only  as  fusing,  and  indeed  with 
the  definite  degree  of  fusion  which  they  possess  in  the  actual 
hearing.  The  same  is  true  of  any  other  two  tones.  A  priori  this 
is  not  necessarily  to  be  expected,  even  if  we  recognise  sensations 
and  representations  of  the  imagination  in  general  as  similar. 
Not  all  properties  of  simultaneous  sensations  pass  over  of  neces- 
sity to  the  representation  of  the  imagination:  c  and  c  sharp  in 
actual  hearing  (upon  the  same  ear)  necessarily  make  vibrations, 
but  in  the  imagination  I  can  represent  them  perfectly  without 
vibrations.  Moreover,  if  I  represent  them  as  vibrating,  I  ran 
represent  them  with  slow  or  quick,  strong  or  weak  vibra- 


626  CARL  STUMPF 

tions;  whilst  the  choice  of  the  degree  of  fusion  is  not  free 
to  me. 

In  regard  to  the  representation  of  the  imagination  we  must 
accordingly  complete  the  fundamental  law  as  follows:  Tones 
represented  as  simultaneous  fuse  in  the  degree  which  corre- 
sponds to  the  ratio  of  vibration  of  tones  of  the  same  pitch 
created  objectively. 

(g)  If  we  proceed  above  an  octave,  the  same  degrees  of  fusion 
recur  with  the  rates  of  vibration  increased  one  or  more  octaves. 
The  ninths  have  the  same  fusion  as  the  seconds,  the  tenths  as 
the  thirds,  the  double  and  triple  octave  as  the  octave;  and  in 
general  m:n.2^,  the  same  Sism:n,  if  w  <C«  and  x  a  small  whole 
number. 

We  must  not  be  misled  here  by  the  greater  ease  of  the  ana- 
lysis. C  and  c  ^  sounding  together  are  more  easily  and  certainly 
analyzed  by  the  unmusical  than  C  and  c,  even  than  C  and  G ; 
although  these  two  tones  fuse  less  with  one  another  than  the 
former.  The  analysis  depends  upon  very  different  conditions; 
it  is  peculiarly  difficult  especially  in  the  lowest  register;  it  is 
further  facilitated  by  increase  in  the  difference  of  pitch  of  the 
two  tones.  But  if  analysis  takes  place  in  both  cases,  we  shall 
also  further  find,  that  C  and  c^  are  nevertheless  in  sensuous 
impression  less  perfectly  sundered  than  C  and  G,  and  not  more 
perfectly  than  C  and  c. 

If  I  compare  the  sounds  of  the  tuning-fork  CG  with  Cg,  CA 
with  Ca,  etc.,  it  is  evident  to  me,  that  detection  of  difference 
between  every  second  combination  is  always  easier,  but  the 
fusion  is  the  same  as  in  the  first. 

If  I  play  upon  the  d^  string  of  the  violin  the  octave  d^,  and 
then  the  double  octave  d  ^  (on  the  a^  string),  I  have  in  both  cases 
the  same  impression  of  homogeneity  and  of  approximation  to  a 
real  tonal  unity.  We  can  always  for  sake  of  contrast  play 
the  d  in  question  with  the  free  e^  string;  the  difference  of  the 
fusion  is  always  the  same,  that  of  the  highest  and  of  the  lowest 
degree. 

If  an  orchestra  plays  the  entire  7  octave  tones  from  C  up  to 
c  ^,  we  still  designate  the  impression  as  unison.  The  seven  tones 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE  627 

are  more  homogeneous  than  the  two  tones  c  and  a,  to  saj^  no- 
thing of  c  and  h.  We  cannot  here  assume  as  true,  that  only  the 
two  neighboring  members  of  the  series  always  fuse  with  one 
another,  C  with  c,  c  with  c^  etc.,  and  that  the  farther  removed  do 
so  only  by  means  of  the  intermediate ;  for  if  C  and  c^  fuse  by 
themselves  less  than  C  and  c,  or  even  c  and  g,  this  could  not  be 
changed  by  means  of  the  intervening  octaves,  according  to  {c). 
Moreover,  the  special  laws  enunciated  in  the  preceding  prin- 
ciples can  be  directly  observed  in  the  enlarged  intervals  them- 
selves. For  example,  this  is  true  of  that  presented  under  {b) ,  the 
recognition  of  which  with  many  possibly  meets  with  difficulties. 
Play  upon  the  piano  first  c  alone  and  observe  the  overtone  g^ 
(the  twelfth),  which  we  clearly  hear  sound  at  the  same  time,  in 
respect  to  its  fusion  with  the  fundamental  tone.  Now  add  g^, 
by  means  of  which  this  tone,  too,  becomes  noticeably  strength- 
ened: the  fusion  with  c  remains  unchanged.  The  fusion,  there- 
fore, in  the  intervals  beyond  the  octave  is  independent  also  of 
the  relation  of  strength. 

4.  Rules  of  observation 

Those  who  are  skilled  in  the  judgment  of  tones  can  test, 
whether  what  precedes  corresponds  to  their  own  perceptions. 
Where  it  is  a  question  of  relations  which  are  based  on  the 
material  of  sensation  itself,  there  is,  indeed,  no  fear  that  very 
great  individual  differences  will  appear  in  those  hearing 
normally.  It  is  rather  to  be  expected,  that  those  capable  of 
judgment  will  find  among  themselves  more  and  more  harmony, 
the  longer  and  more  carefully  they  examine.  But  I  will  not  by 
any  means  claim  to  have  found  the  correct  solution  in  each  of 
the  mentioned  points,  and  to  have  expressed  it  in  an  entirely 
correct  manner. 

It  is  necessary  in  these  observations  above  everything  to 
direct  the  attention  exclusively  upon  the  point  in  question, 
especially,  therefore,  to  disregard  theoretical  knowledge  of  rela- 
tionship, etc.,  as  well  as  of  the  musical  significance  and  position; 
and  also  to  disregard  the  impression  of  feeling  of  an  interval, 
whether  it  be  harmonious  or  unharmonious,  agreeable  or  dis- 


628  CARL  STUMPF 

agreeable,  and  furthermore  in  a  different  way  agreeable  or 
disagreeable.  The  character  and  value  of  the  feeling  of  an  inter- 
val depends,  indeed,  as  we  shall  show  later,  upon  its  degree  of 
fusion;  but  yet  not  solely  upon  this.  The  most  agreeable  inter- 
val is  not  one  of  strongest  fusion.  The  great  seventh  is  in 
isolated  state  more  disagreeable  than  the  small ;  and  this  cannot 
be  mistaken  for  a  lesser  fusion,  or  explained  by  that.  It  has  other 
grounds.   The  same  is  true  of  the  great  and  small  third,  etc. 

In  general  it  will  also  be  well  first  to  take  tones  of  the  same 
sensation-strength,  because  then  the  danger  is  best  avoided 
that  any  one  of  them  should  remain  totally  imperceptible  or 
obscure.  In  order  to  produce  similar  strength  of  sensation  in 
large  intervals  of  tone,  one  must  frequently  —  according  to  the 
instrument  —  give  the  higher  tone  with  less  physical  strength. 
Further  the  greatest  possible  similarity  in  the  initial  utterance 
and  duration  of  tone  is  naturally  preferable,  since  inequalities  of 
every  kind  divert  the  attention.  Likewise,  similar  tone  color  is 
desirable,  although  this  is  of  no  influence  in  the  fusion  of  the 
keynotes.  Purity  of  interval,  that  is,  exact  harmony  with  the 
respective  numbers  of  vibrations,  is  so  much  the  more  neces- 
sary, the  more  acute  the  hearing;  although  minimal  variations, 
which  can  never  be  avoided,  do  no  important  injury  to  the 
fusion  particularly  in  the  lower  grades.  The  piano  with  its 
tempered  pitch  permits  the  diff"erences  of  the  higher  degrees 
still  to  appear  (the  octave  is  even  here  pure) ;  but  not  between 
the  last  two  degrees.  It  is  even  here  c :  d  sharp  =:  c:e  flat,  and 
c;g  sharp =c.'a  flat. 

But  all  these  are  measures  of  the  kind  that  are  matters  of 
course  for  every  observation.  Nobody  affirms  that  the  phe- 
nomenon would  be  perceptible  under  only  especially  chosen 
circumstances.  It  is  on  the  contrary  in  itself  one  of  the  most 
obvious,  and  so  to  speak  most  unavoidable,  in  the  whole  subject 
of  unison.  The  entire  task  consists  only  in  not  confounding 
it  with  others  which  are  based  upon  it,  particularly  with  facts 
of  judgment  and  of  feeling  (possibility  and  impossibility  of 
analysis,  pleasurableness  and  impleasureableness  of  an  in- 
terval). 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE  629 

5.  Confirmation  through  unmusical  persons 

For  the  guidance  of  my  own  judgment  I  have  pursued  still 
another  method.  As  the  question  is  here  put,  it  can  only  be  ad- 
dressed to  those  who  are  sufficiently  endowed  with  power  of 
tonal  observations  to  analyze  the  fifths  and  octaves  easily  and 
directly.  With  such  there  exists  only  the  difficulty  last  men-* 
tioned,  and  many  times  previously  touched  upon,  as  to  the 
dominating  consciousness  of  the  harmonious  character  and  sen- 
sation-value of  the  interval.  But  we  can  obtain  information 
also  in  an  indirect  way  through  unmusical  persons,  and  those 
unpractised  in  the  judgment  of  tones:  by  means  of  the  use  of 
the  aforementioned  difficulty  of  analysis.  The  different  degrees 
of  fusion  must  reveal  themselves  in  the  different  degrees  of  dif- 
ficulty of  analysis,  if  all  the  remaining  circumstances  upon 
which  the  latter  depend  are  taken  precisely  equal.  We  shall 
recognise  them  in  the  results.  In  this  way  we  can  even  obtain 
figures,  by  the  enumeration  of  correct  and  false  judgments,  up- 
on the  question,  whether  one  or  more  tones  are  present  in  each 
interval.  The  combinations  of  more  strongly  fusing  tones 
under  otherwise  similar  conditions  will  more  rarely  be  judged 
to  be  two  tones  than  those  fusing  less  strongly. 


§  20.    THE    CAUSE   OF  TONAL    FUSION 

6.  The  cause  of  fusion  is  physiological 

All  the  attempts  at  the  explanation  of  tonal  fusion  previously 
considered  have  been  psychological.  Their  failure  signifies,  that 
we  can  by  no  means  seek  the  source  of  tonal  fusion  in  the 
psychological  domain.  In  favor  of  this  view  from  the  outset 
appeared  to  be  the  circumstance,  that  such  tonal  fusion  is  a  fact 
of  sensation,  a  relation  immanent  in  simultaneous  tonal  quali- 
ties, and  independent  of  practice  in  the  individual  life.  But 
relations  of  sensation,  like  the  sensations  themselves,  are  not 
referable  to  more  remote  causes,  but  only  to  physical. 

The  physically  objective  characteristics  of  successive  waves 
do  not  help  us  at  all.  To  be  sure,  the  total  wave  formed  by  two 


630  CARL  STUMPF 

waves  in  the  ratio  i :  2  is  most  similar  to  the  simple  sine-wave; 
then  follows  2:3,  3:4,  etc.  more  and  more  complicated  forms. 
But  these  objective  relations  are,  as  was  previously  remarked, 
neither  themselves  the  content  of  any  sensation,  nor  the  imme- 
diate cause  of  one ;  but  on  the  contrary,  they  lie  far  back  in  the 
chain  of  causes.  Moreover,  if  we  consider  it  more  closely  from 
that  standpoint,  we  find,  that  the  so-called  characteristic  of  the 
vibrations  of  the  air  disappear  in  the  organ,  if  it  is  true  here 
that  every  compound  vibration  is  resolved  into  simple  vibra- 
tions. Also  as  was  previously  mentioned,  the  circumstance  that 
colors  in  which  objectively  the  selfsame  relations  of  vibrations 
occur,  (1:2  in  the  extreme  outer  colors  of  the  spectrum,  2:3  in 
blue  and  red,  orange  and  indigo-violet,  greenish-blue,  and 
extreme  red),  reveal  no  phenomenon  analogous  to  the  tonal 
fusion,  must  prevent  the  objective  forms  of  the  waves  from 
being  made  in  any  way  responsible  for  the  fusion. 

That  also  within  the  organ,  especially  of  the  labyrinth  in  the 
ear,  the  physical  processes  do  not  yet  possess  that  characteris- 
tic which  corresponds  to  the  fusion  of  the  tones  in  sensation, 
appears  not  merely  from  the  just-mentioned  isolated  transmis- 
sion but  also  from  the  fact,  that  the  fusion  is  perceptible  in  the 
same  way  when  the  two  tones  are  divided  between  the  two  ears, 
as  well  as  when  they  are  merely  imagined.  At  least  it  would  be 
a  violent  and  improbable  assumption,  that  the  process  creating 
fusion  in  the  case  of  simultaneous  hearing  occurs  in  the  ear 
itself,  but  in  the  division  of  the  tones  occurs  first  in  the  brain. 

Certain  differences  in  the  last  processes  of  the  centre  of  hear- 
ing must  therefore  correspond  to  the  differences  in  the  degrees 
of  fusion  as  a  physical  correlate,  or  as  a  cause,  (according  as  one 
thinks  in  a  monistic  or  a  dualistic  way).  But  we  know  nothing 
of  what  nature  these  differences  are,  for  this  reason,  if  for  no 
other,  that  in  general  we  know  nothing  concerning  the  nature 
of  the  last  processes.  Indeed  I  must  say,  that  although  up  to  a 
certain  point  we  can  express  in  physical  or  chemical  terms  the 
occurrence  of  vibrations,  competition,  contrast,  and  other  phe- 
nomena, in  respect  to  the  processes  of  the  brain,  which  might 
lie  at  the  basis  of  the  phenomena  of  fusion,  such  a  hypothetical 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  TONE  631 

image  does  not  even  occur  to  me.  Perhaps  the  practised  fancy 
of  certain  mind  readers  will  succeed  better.  But  who  knows, 
whether  we  shall  not  find  ourselves  gradually  induced  to  recast 
or  to  extend  our  fundamental  physical  conceptions.  Is  it  then  a 
priori  certain  that  the  world  beyond  consciousness,  (to  which 
the  brain  indeed  belongs),  is  spatial,  and  only  spatial,  or  may 
be  so  conceived?  Spatial  properties  are  nothing  but  a  small 
part  of  those  which  we  abstract  from  our  sense  perceptions.  We 
have  found  them  serviceable  for  the  rational  construction  of 
the  external  world,  and  for  the  derivation  of  its  laws.  But 
all  other  qualitative  and  remaining  moments  and  relations 
of  sensations  have  of  themselves  the  same  right  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  external  world.  And  possibly  fusion  is  itself  des- 
tined sometime  to  participate  in  this  dignity ;  perchance  in  ap- 
plication to  chemical  processes.  But  this  is  a  mere  play  with 
the  possibilities  of  thought,  and  we  will  not  in  place  of  physio- 
logical indulge  in  metaphysiological  fancies. 

If  we  are  willing  in  the  lack  of  adequate  apprehension  to  con- 
tent ourselves  with  an  abstract  notion  (which  after  all  is  no- 
thing but  a  word) ,  we  might  once  more  speak  of  specific  ener- 
gies. The  specific  energies,  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  fusion, 
have  only  this  peculiarity,  that  they  are  not  aroused  by  means 
of  isolated  stimuli,  but  by  the  concurrence  of  two  stimuli.  For 
this  reason,  we  can  call  them  specific  energies  of  a  higher  rank, 
or  still  better,  specific  synergies.  By  such  specific  synergy  we 
should  therefore  understand  a  determinate  mode  of  coopera- 
tion of  two  nervous  formations,  having  its  ground  in  the  struc- 
J  ture  of  the  brain,  of  such  a  kind  that  whenever  these  two 
formations  produce  their  corresponding  sensations,  there  arises 
at  the  same  time  a  determinate  degree  of  fusion  of  these  sensa- 
tions. As  adequate  and  inadequate  stimuli  are  distinguished  in 
the  production  of  sensations,  by  means  of  both  of  which  never- 
theless one  and  the  same  quality  of  sensation  is  produced;  so 
likewise  a  determinate  degree  of  fusion  is  here  not  united  as 
such  exclusively  and  unconditionally  to  the  "  adequate  "  stimu- 
lus-relation, (e.g.,  1:2),  but  the  same  specific  S;mergy  can  also, 
by  way  of  exception,  be  aroused  by  another  objective  relation  of 


632  CARL  STUMPF 

vibration,  and  the  octave  relation,  etc.,  be  established  in  the 
sensation.  On  the  other  hand,  these  specific  energies  of  higher 
rank  are,  to  be  sure,  inseparably  united  with  those  of  the  first 
rank:  for  the  fusion  reveals  itself  constantly  as  the  same  be- 
tween two  determinate  qualities  of  tone. 

That  fusion  remains  preserved  in  imagination,  is  not  opposed 
to  what  has  been  said,  but  is  only  a  new  example  in  proof  of  the 
fact,  that  the  mere  ideas  of  the  imagination  have  themselves  a 
physical  basis,  and  indeed  in  general  the  same  as  the  sensations. 

In  contrast  to  the  theories  of  fusion  already  summarized, 
which  give  a  very  exact  explanation  concerning  the  process,  our 
formulation  must  appear  slight.  But  we  would  prefer  honor- 
able poverty  to  suspicious  wealth,  and  remain  mindful  of  the 
fact,  that  everywhere  no  other  formulation  than  one  in  such 
general  and  abstract  terms,  is  as  yet  certainly  possible  for  the 
immediate  and  ultimate  bases  of  our  entire  sensational  life. 


WILLIAM  JAMES 

(i  842-1 910) 

PSYCHOLOGY* 

CHAPTER  XIJ    THE  STREAM  OF   CONSCIOUS- 
NESS 

The  order  of  our  study  must  be  analytic.  We  are  now  pre- 
pared to  begin  the  introspective  study  of  the  adult  conscious- 
ness itself.  Most  books  adopt  the  so-called  synthetic  method. 
Starting  with  '  simple  ideas  of  sensation/  and  regarding  these 
as  so  many  atoms,  they  proceed  to  build  up  the  higher  states  of 
mind  out  of  their  '  association/  *  integration/  or  '  fusion/  as 
houses  are  built  by  the  agglutination  of  bricks.  This  has  the 
didactic  advantages  which  the  synthetic  method  usually  has. 
But  it  commits  one  beforehand  to  the  very  questionable  theory 
that  our  higher  states  of  consciousness  are  compounds  of  units; 
and  instead  of  starting  with  what  the  reader  directly  knows, 
namely  his  total  concrete  states  of  mind,  it  starts  with  a  set  of 
supposed  '  simple  ideas '  with  which  he  has  no  immediate 
acquaintance  at  all,  and  concerning  whose  alleged  interactions 
he  is  much  at  the  mercy  of  any  plausible  phrase.  On  every 
ground,  then,  the  method  of  advancing  from  the  simple  to  the 
compound  exposes  us  to  illusion.  All  pedants  and  abstrac- 
tionists will  naturally  hate  to  abandon  it.  But  a  student  who 
loves  the  fulness  of  human  nature  will  prefer  to  follow  the 
'  analytic'  method,  and  to  begin  with  the  most  concrete  facts, 
those  with  which  he  has  a  daily  acquaintance  in  his  own  inner 
life.   The  analytic  method  will  discover  in  due  time  the  ele- 

*  New  York,  Henry  Holt  and  Company,  1892. 

t  This  chapter  first  app)eared  in  substance  as  an  article  On  Some  Omissions 
of  Introspective  Psychology  in  Mind  for  January,  1884;  and  again  as  a  chapter 
on  The  Stream  of  Thought  in  the  author's  Principles  of  Psychology  in  1890. 


634  WILLIAM  JAMES 

mentary  parts,  if  such  exist,  without  danger  of  precipitate  as- 
sumption. The  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  our  own  chapters 
on  sensation  have  dealt  mainly  with  the  physiological  condi- 
tions thereof.  They  were  put  first  as  a  mere  matter  of  conven- 
ience, because  incoming  currents  come  first.  Psychologically 
they  might  better  have  come  last.  Pure  sensations  were  de- 
scribed [Psychology,  page  12]  as  processes  which  in  adult  life  are 
well-nigh  unknown,  and  nothing  was  said  which  could  for  a 
moment  lead  the  reader  to  suppose  that  they  were  the  elements 
of  composition  of  the  higher  states  of  mind. 

The  Fundamental  Fact-  —  The  first  and  foremost  concrete 
fact  which  every  one  will  afiirm  to  belong  to  his  inner  experi- 
ence is  the  fact  that  consciousness  of  some  sort  goes  on.  '  States  of 
mind  '  succeed  each  other  in  him.  If  we  could  say  in  English  *  it 
thinks,'  as  we  say  *  it  rains  '  or  '  it  blows,'  we  should  be  stating 
the  fact  most  simply  and  with  the  minimum  of  assumption. 
As  we  cannot,  we  must  simply  say  that  thought  goes  on. 

Four  Characters  in  Consciousness.  —  How  does  it  ^o  on? 
We  notice  immediately  four  important  characters  in  the  pro- 
cess, of  which  it  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  present  chapter  to 
treat  in  a  general  way : 

(i)  Every  '  state  *  tends  to  be  part  of  a  personal  conscious- 
ness. 

(2)  Within  each  personal  consciousness  states  are  always 
changing. 

(3)  Each  personal  consciousness  is  sensibly  continuous. 

(4)  It  is  interested  in  some  parts  of  its  object  to  the  exclusion 
ofothers,  and  welcomes  or  rejects  —  chooses  from  among  them, 
in  a  word  —  all  the  while. 

In  considering  these  four  points  successively,  we  shall  have 
to  plunge  in  medias  res  as  regards  our  nomenclature  and  use 
psychological  terms  which  can  only  be  adequately  defined  in 
later  chapters  of  the  book.  But  every  one  knows  what  the 
terms  mean  in  a  rough  way;  and  it  is  only  in  a  rough  way  that 
we  are  now  to  take  them.  This  chapter  is  like  a  painter's  first 
charcoal  sketch  upon  his  canvas,  in  which  no  niceties  appear. 

When  I  say  every  '  state '  or  '  thought '  is  part  of  a  personal 


PSYCHOLOGY  635 

consciousness,  personal  consciousness  '  is  one  of  the  terms  in 
question.  Its  meaning  we  know  so  long  as  no  one  asks  us  to 
define  it,  but  to  give  an  accurate  account  of  it  is  the  most  diffi- 
cult of  philosophic  tasks.  This  task  we  must  confront  in  the 
next  chapter;  here  a  preliminary  word  will  suffice. 

In  this  room  —  this  lecture-room,  say  —  there  are  a  multi- 
tude of  thoughts,  yours  and  mine,  some  of  which  cohere  mutu- 
ally, and  some  not.  They  are  as  little  each-for-itself  and  recip- 
rocally independent  as  they  are  all-belonging-together.  They 
are  neither:  no  one  of  them  is  separate,  but  each  belongs  with 
certain  others  and  with  none  beside.  My  thought  belongs  with 
my  other  thoughts,  and  your  thought  with  your  other  thoughts. 
Whether  anywhere  in  the  room  there  be  a  mere  thought,  which 
is  nobody's  thought,  we  have  no  means  of  ascertaining,  for  we 
have  no  experience  of  its  like.  The  only  states  of  consciousness 
that  we  naturally  deal  with  are  found  in  personal  conscious- 
nesses, minds,  selves,  concrete  particular  I's  and  you's. 

Each  of  these  minds  keeps  its  own  thoughts  to  itself.  There 
is  no  giving  or  bartering  between  them.  No  thought  even 
comes  into  direct  sight  of  a  thought  in  another  personal  con- 
sciousness than  its  own.  Absolute  insulation,  irreducible 
pluralism,  is  the  law.  It  seems  as  if  the  elementary  psychic  fact 
were  not  thought  or  this  thought  or  that  thought,  but  my  thought, 
every  thought  being  owned.  Neither  contemporaneity,  nor 
proximity  in  space,  nor  similarity  of  quality  and  content  are 
able  to  fuse  thoughts  together  which  are  sundered  by  this  bar- 
rier of  belonging  to  different  personal  minds.  The  breaches  be- 
tween such  thoughts  are  the  most  absolute  breaches  in  nature. 
Every  one  will  recognize  this  to  be  true,  so  long  as  the  existence 
of  something  corresponding  to  the  term  '  personal  mind  '  is  all 
that  is  insisted  on,  without  any  particular  view  of  its  nature 
being  implied.  On  these  terms  the  personal  self  rather  than  the 
thought  might  be  treated  as  the  immediate  datum  in  psycho- 
logy. The  universal  conscious  fact  is  not '  feelings  and  thoughts 
exist,'  but '  I  think  '  and  '  I  feel.'  No  psychology,  at  any  rate, 
can  question  the  existence  of  personal  selves.  Thoughts  con- 
nected as  we  feel  them  to  be  connected  are  what  we  mean  by 


636  WILLIAM  JAMES 

personal  selves.  The  worst  a  psychology  can  do  is  so  to  inter- 
pret the  nature  of  these  selves  as  to  rob  them  of  their  worth. 

Consciousness  is  inconstant  change.  —  I  do  not  mean  by  this 
to  say  that  no  one  state  of  mind  has  any  duration  —  even  if 
true,  that  would  be  hard  to  establish.  What  I  wish  to  lay  stress 
on  is  this,  that  no  state  once  gone  can  recur  and  he  identical  with 
what  it  was  before.  Now  we  are  seeing,  now  hearing;  now  rea- 
soning, now  willing;  now  recollecting,  now  expecting;  now  lov- 
ing, now  hating;  and  in  a  hundred  other  ways  we  know  our 
minds  to  be  alternately  engaged.  But  all  these  are  complex 
states,  it  may  be  said,  produced  by  combination  of  simpler 
ones;  —  do  not  the  simpler  ones  follow  a  different  law?  Are  not 
the  sensations  which  we  get  from  the  same  object,  for  example, 
always  the  same?  Does  not  the  same  piano-key,  struck  with 
the  same  force,  make  us  hear  in  the  same  way?  Does  not  the 
same  grass  give  us  the  same  feeling  of  green,  the  same  sky  the 
same  feeling  of  blue,  and  do  we  not  get  the  same  olfactory  sens- 
ation no  matter  how  many  times  we  put  our  nose  to  the  same 
flask  of  cologne?  It  seems  a  piece  of  metaphysical  sophistry  to 
suggest  that  we  do  not ;  and  yet  a  close  attention  to  the  matter 
shows  that  there  is  no  proof  that  an  incoming  current  ever  gives  us 
just  the  same  bodily  sensation  twice. 

What  is  got  twice  is  the  same  object.  We  hear  the  same  note 
over  and  over  again;  we  see  the  same  quality  of  green,  or  smell 
the  same  objective  perfume,  or  experience  the  same  species  of 
pain.  The  realities,  concrete  and  abstract,  physical  and  ideal, 
whose  permanent  existence  we  believe  in,  seem  to  be  constantly 
coming  up  again  before  our  thought,  and  lead  us,  in  our  care- 
lessness, to  suppose  that  our  '  ideas '  of  them  are  the  same 
ideas.  When  we  come,  some  time  later,  to  the  chapter  on  Per- 
ception, we  shall  see  how  inveterate  is  our  habit  of  simply  using 
our  sensible  impressions  as  stepping-stones  to  pass  over  to  the 
recognition  of  the  realities  whose  presence  they  reveal.  The 
grass  out  of  the  window  now  looks  to  me  of  the  same  green  in 
the  sun  as  in  the  shade,  and  yet  a  painter  would  have  to  paint 
one  part  of  it  dark  brown,  another  part  bright  yellow,  to  give 
its  real  sensational  effect.  We  take  no  heed,  as  a  rule,  of  the  dif- 


PSYCHOLOGY  637 

ferent  way  in  which  the  same  things  look  and  sound  and  smell 
at  different  distances  and  under  different  circumstances.  The 
sameness  of  the  things  is  what  we  are  concerned  to  ascertain; 
and  any  sensations  that  assure  us  of  that  will  probably  be  con- 
sidered in  a  rough  way  to  be  the  same  with  each  other.  This  is 
what  makes  off-hand  testimony  about  the  subjective  identity 
of  different  sensations  well-nigh  worthless  as  a  proof  of  the  fact. 
The  entire  history  of  what  is  called  Sensation  is  a  commentary 
on  our  inabiUty  to  tell  whether  two  sensible  qualities  received 
apart  are  exactly  alike.  What  appeals  to  our  attention  far 
more  than  the  absolute  quality  of  an  impression  is  its  ratio  to 
whatever  other  impressions  we  may  have  at  the  same  time. 
When  everything  is  dark  a  somewhat  less  dark  sensation  makes 
us  see  an  object  white.  Helmholtz  calculates  that  the  white 
marble  painted  in  a  picture  representing  an  architectural  view 
by  moonlight  is,  when  seen  by  daylight,  from  ten  to  twenty 
thousand  times  brighter  than  the  real  moonlit  marble  would  be. 

Such  a  difference  as  this  could  never  have  been  sensibly 
learned ;  it  had  to  be  inferred  from  a  series  of  indirect  consider- 
ations. These  make  us  beheve  that  our  sensibility  is  altering 
all  the  time,  so  that  the  same  object  cannot  easily  give  us  the 
same  sensation  over  again.  We  feel  things  differently  accord- 
ingly as  we  are  sleepy  or  awake,  hungry  or  full,  fresh  or  tired; 
differently  at  night  and  in  the  morning,  differently  in  summer 
and  in  winter;  and  above  all,  differently  in  childhood,  manhood, 
and  old  age.  And  yet  we  never  doubt  that  our  feelings  reveal 
the  same  world,  with  the  same  sensible  qualities  and  the  same 
sensible  things  occupying  it.  The  difference  of  the  sensibility  is 
shown  best  by  the  difference  of  our  emotion  about  the  things 
from  one  age  to  another,  or  when  we  are  in  different  organic 
moods.  What  was  bright  and  exciting  becomes  weary,  flat, 
and  unprofitable.  The  bird's  song  is  tedious,  the  breeze  is 
mournful,  the  sky  is  sad. 

To  these  indirect  presumptions  that  our  sensations,  following 
the  mutations  of  our  capacity  for  feeling,  are  always  under- 
going an  essential  change,  must  be  added  another  presumption, 
based  on  what  must  happen  in  the  grain.  Every  sensation  cone- 


638  WILLIAM  JAMES 

sponds  to  some  cerebral  action.  For  an  identical  sensation  to 
recur  it  would  have  to  occur  the  second  time  in  an  unmodified 
brain.  But  as  this,  strictly  speaking,  is  a  physiological  impossi- 
bility, so  is  an  unmodified  feeling  an  impossibility;  for  to  every 
brain-modification,  however  small,  we  suppose  that  there  must 
correspond  a  change  of  equal  amount  in  the  consciousness 
which  the  brain  subserves. 

But  if  the  assumption  of  '  simple  sensations  '  recurring  in 
immutable  shape  is  so  easily  shown  to  be  baseless,  how  much 
more  baseless  is  the  assumption  of  immutability  in  the  larger 
masses  of  our  thought ! 

For  there  it  is  obvious  and  palpable  that  our  state  of  mind  is 
never  precisely  the  same.  Every  thought  we  have  of  a  given 
fact  is,  strictly  speaking,  unique,  and  only  bears  a  resemblance 
of  kind  with  our  other  thoughts  of  the  same  fact.  When  the 
identical  fact  recurs,  we  must  think  of  it  in  a  fresh  manner,  see 
it  under  a  somewhat  different  angle,  apprehend  it  in  diflferent 
relations  from  those  in  which  it  last  appeared.  And  the  thought 
by  which  we  cognize  it  is  the  thought  of  it-in-those-relations,  a 
thought  suffused  with  the  consciousness  of  all  that  dim  con- 
text. Often  we  are  ourselves  struck  at  the  strange  differences  in 
our  successive  views  of  the  same  thing.  We  wonder  how  we 
ever  could  have  opined  as  we  did  last  month  about  a  certain 
matter.  We  have  outgrown  the  possibility  of  that  state  of 
mind,  we  know  not  how.  From  one  year  to  another  we  see 
things  in  new  Ughts.  What  was  unreal  has  grown  real,  and  what 
was  exciting  is  insipid.  The  friends  we  used  to  care  the  world 
for  are  shrunken  to  shadows;  the  women  once  so  divine,  the 
stars,  the  woods,  and  the  waters,  how  now  so  dull  and  common ! 
—  the  young  girls  that  brought  an  aura  of  infinity,  at  present 
hardly  distinguishable  existences;  the  pictures  so  empty ;  and  as 
for  the  books,  what  was  there  to  find  so  mysteriously  significant 
in  Goethe,  or  in  John  Mill  so  full  of  weight?  Instead  of  all  this, 
more  zestful  than  ever  is  the  work,  the  work;  and  fuller  and 
deeper  the  import  of  common  duties  and  of  common  goods. 

I  am  sure  that  this  concrete  and  total  manner  of  regarding 
the  mind's  changes  is  the  only  true  manner,  difl5cult  as  it  may 


PSYCHOLOGY  639 

be  to  carry  it  out  in  detail.  If  anything  seems  obscure  about  it, 
it  will  grow  clearer  as  we  advance.  Meanwhile,  if  it  be  true, 
it  is  certainly  also  true  that  no  two  *  ideas  '  are  ever  exactly  the 
same,  which  is  the  proposition  we  started  to  prove.  The  pro- 
position is  more  important  theoretically  than  it  at  first  sight 
seems.  For  it  makes  it  already  impossible  for  us  to  follow 
obediently  in  the  footprints  of  either  the  Lockian  or  the 
Herbartian  school,  schools  which  have  had  almost  unlimited 
influence  in  Germany  and  among  ourselves.  No  doubt  it  is 
often  convenient  to  formulate  the  mental  facts  in  an  atomistic 
sort  of  way,  and  to  treat  the  higher  states  of  consciousness  as  if 
they  were  all  built  out  of  unchanging  simple  ideas  which  '  pass 
and  turn  again.'  It  is  convenient  often  to  treat  curves  as  if  they 
were  composed  of  small  straight  lines,  and  electricity  and  nerve- 
force  as  if  they  were  fluids.  But  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other 
we  must  never  forget  that  we  are  talking  symbolically,  and  that 
there  is  nothing  in  nature  to  answer  to  our  words.  A  perma- 
nently existing  '  Idea '  which  makes  its  appearance  before  the 
footlights  of  consciousness  at  periodical  intervals  is  as  mythological 
an  entity  as  the  Jack  of  Spades. 

Within  each  personal  consciousness,  thought  is  sensibly 
continuous. — I  can  onl}^  define  '  continuous  '  as  that  which  is 
without  breach,  crack,  or  division.  The  only  breaches  that  can 
well  be  conceived  to  occur  within  the  limits  of  a  single  mind 
would  either  be  interruptions,  time-ga.ps  during  which  the  con- 
sciousness went  out ;  or  they  would  be  breaks  in  the  content  of 
the  thought,  so  abrupt  that  what  followed  had  no  connection 
whatever  with  what  went  before.  The  proposition  that  con- 
sciousness feels  continuous,  means  two  things: 

a.  That  even  where  there  is  a  time-gap  the  consciousness 
after  it  feels  as  if  it  belonged  together  with  the  consciousness 
before  it,  as  another  part  of  the  same  self; 

b.  That  the  changes  from  one  moment  to  another  in  the 
quality  of  the  consciousness  are  never  absolutely  abrupt. 

The  case  of  the  time-gaps,  as  the  simplest,  shall  be  taken 
first. 
a.  When  Paul  and  Peter  wake  up  in  the  same  bed,  and  recog- 


640  WILLIAM  JAMES 

nize  that  they  have  been  asleep,  each  one  of  them  mentally 
reaches  back  and  makes  connection  with  but  one  of  the  two 
streams  of  thought  which  were  broken  by  the  sleeping  hours. 
As  the  current  of  an  electrode  buried  in  the  ground  unerringly 
finds  its  way  to  its  own  similarly  buried  mate,  across  no  matter 
how  much  intervening  earth ;  so  Peter's  present  instantly  finds 
out  Peter's  past,  and  never  by  mistake  knits  itself  on  to  that  of 
Paul.  Paul's  thought  in  turn  is  as  little  liable  to  go  astray.  The 
past  thought  of  Peter  is  appropriated  by  the  present  Peter 
alone.  He  may  have  a  knowledge,  and  a  correct  one  too,  of  what 
Paul's  last  drowsy  states  of  mind  were  as  he  sank  into  sleep, 
but  it  is  an  entirely  different  sort  of  knowledge  from  that  which 
he  has  of  his  own  last  states.  He  remembers  his  own  states, 
whilst  he  only  conceives  Paul's.  Remembrance  is  like  direct 
feeling;  its  object  is  suffused  with  a  warmth  and  intimacy  to 
which  no  object  of  mere  conception  ever  attains.  This  quality 
of  warmth  and  intimacy  and  immediacy  is  what  Peter's  present 
thought  also  possesses  for  itself.  So  sure  as  this  present  is  me,  is 
mine,  it  says,  so  sure  is  anything  else  that  comes  with  the  same 
warmth  and  intimacy  and  immediacy,  me  and  mine.  What  the 
qualities  called  warmth  and  intimacy  may  in  themselves  be  will 
have  to  be  matter  for  future  consideration.  But  whatever  past 
states  appear  with  those  qualities  must  be  admitted  to  receive 
the  greeting  of  the  present  mental  state,  to  be  owned  by  it,  and 
accepted  as  belonging  together  with  it  in  a  common  self.  This 
community  of  seK  is  what  the  time-gap  cannot  break  in  twain, 
and  is  why  a  present  thought,  although  not  ignorant  of  the 
time-gap,  can  still  regard  itself  as  continuous  with  certain 
chosen  portions  of  the  past. 

Consciousness,  then,  does  not  appear  to  itself  chopped  up  in 
bits.  Such  words  as  *  chain  '  or  *  train '  do  not  describe  it  fitly 
— as  it  presents  itself  in  the  first  instance.  It  is  nothing  jointed ; 
it  flows.  ■  A '  river  '  or  a  '  stream  '  are  the  metaphors  by  which 
it  is  most  naturally  described.  In  talking  of  it  hereafter,  let  us 
call  it  the  stream  oj  thought,  of  consciousness,  or  of  subjective  life. 

h.  But  now  there  appears,  even  within  the  limits  of  the  same 
self,  and  between  thoughts  all  of  which  alike  have  this  same 


PSYCHOLOGY  641 

sense  of  belonging  together,  a  kind  of  jointing  and  separateness 
among  the  parts,  of  which  this  statement  seems  to  take  no 
account,  I  refer  to  the  breaks  that  are  produced  by  sudden 
contrasts  in  the  quality  of  the  successive  segments  of  the  stream 
of  thought.  If  the  words  '  chain  '  and  '  train  '  had  no  natural 
fitness  in  them,  how  came  such  words  to  be  used  at  all?  Does 
not  a  loud  explosion  rend  the  consciousness  upon  which  it 
abruptly  breaks,  in  twain?  No ;  for  even  into  our  awareness  of 
the  thunder  the  awareness  of  the  previous  silence  creeps  and 
continues;  for  what  we  hear  when  the  thunder  crashes  is 
not  thunder  pure,  but  thunder-breaking-upon-silence-and-con- 
trasting-with-it.  Our  feeling  of  the  same  objective  thunder, 
coming  in  this  way,  is  quite  different  from  what  it  would  be 
were  the  thunder  a  continuation  of  previous  thunder.  The 
thunder  itself  we  believe  to  abolish  and  exclude  the  silence;  but 
the  feeling  of  the  thunder  is  also  a  feeling  of  the  silence  as  just 
gone;  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  the  actual  concrete 
consciousness  of  man  a  feeling  so  Hmited  to  the  present  as  not 
to  have  an  inkling  of  anything  that  went  before. 

*  Substantive  *  and  '  Transitive  '  States  of  Mind.  —  When 
we  take  a  general  view  of  the  wonderful  stream  of  our  con- 
sciousness, what  strikes  us  first  is  the  different  pace  of  its  parts. 
Like  a  bird's  life,  it  seems  to  be  an  alternation  of  flights  and 
perchings.  The  rhythm  of  language  expresses  this,  where  every 
thought  is  expressed  in  a  sentence,  and  every  sentence  closed  by 
a  period.  The  resting-places  are  usually  occupied  by  sensorial 
imaginations  of  some  sort,  whose  peculiarity  is  that  they  can  be 
held  before  the  mind  for  an  indefinite  time,  and  contemplated 
without  changing;  the  places  of  flight  are  filled  with  thoughts 
of  relations,  static  or  dynamic,  that  for  the  most  part  obtain 
between  the  matters  contemplated  in  the  periods  of  compara- 
tive rest. 

Let  us  call  the  resting-places  the  *  substantive  parts,*  and  the' 
places  of  flight  the  '  transitive  parts,*  of  the  stream  of  thought.  It 
then  appears  that  our  thinking  tends  at  all  times  towards  some 
other  substantive  part  than  the  one  from  which  it  has  just  been 
dislodged.  And  we  may  say  that  the  main  use  of  the  tran- 


642  WILLIAM  JAMES 

sitive  parts  is  to  lead  us  from  one  substantive  conclusion  to 
another. 

Now  it  is  very  difficult,  introspectively,  to  see  the  transitive 
parts  for  what  they  really  are.  If  they  are  but  flights  to  a  con- 
clusion, stopping  them  to  look  at  them  before  the  conclusion  is 
reached  is  really  annihilating  them.  Whilst  if  we  wait  till  the 
conclusion  be  reached,  it  so  exceeds  them  in  vigor  and  stabiHty 
that  it  quite  eclipses  and  swallows  them  up  in  its  glare.  Let 
anyone  try  to  cut  a  thought  across  in  the  middle  and  get  a  look 
at  its  section,  and  he  will  see  how  difficult  the  introspective  ob- 
servation of  the  transitive  tracts  is.  The  rush  of  the  thought  is 
so  headlong  that  it  almost  always  brings  us  up  at  the  conclusion 
before  we  can  arrest  it.  Or  if  our  purpose  is  nimble  enough  and 
we  do  arrest  it,  it  ceases  forthwith  to  be  itself.  As  a  snowflake 
crystal  caught  in  the  warm  hand  is  no  longer  a  crystal  but  a 
drop,  so,  instead  of  catching  the  feeling  of  relation  moving  to 
its  term,  we  find  we  have  caught  some  substantive  thing, 
usually  the  last  word  we  were  pronouncing,  statically  taken, 
and  with  its  function,  tendency,  and  particular  meaning  in  the 
sentence  quite  evaporated.  The  attempt  at  introspective 
analysis  in  these  cases  is  in  fact  like  seizing  a  spinning  top  to 
catch  its  motion,  or  trying  to  turn  up  the  gas  quickly  enough  to 
see  how  the  darkness  looks.  And  the  challenge  to  produce  these 
transitive  states  of  consciousness,  which  is  sure  to  be  thrown  by 
doubting  psychologists  at  anyone  who  contends  for  their  exist- 
ence, is  as  unfair  as  Zeno's  treatment  of  the  advocates  of  mo- 
tion, when,  asking  them  to  point  out  in  what  place  an  arrow  is 
when  it  moves,  he  argues  the  falsity  of  their  thesis  from  their 
inability  to  make  to  so  preposterous  a  question  an  immediate 
reply. 

The  results  of  this  introspective  difficulty  are  baleful.  If  to 
hold  fast  and  observe  the  transitive  parts  of  thought's  stream 
be  so  hard,  then  the  great  blunder  to  which  all  schools  are  Uable 
must  be  the  failure  to  register  them,  and  the  undue  emphasiz- 
ing of  the  more  substantive  parts  of  the  stream.  Now  the 
blunder  has  historically  worked  in  two  ways.  One  set  of 
thinkers  have  been  led  by  it  to  Sensationalism.  Unable  to  lay 


PSYCHOLOGY  643 

their  hands  on  any  substantive  feelings  corresponding  to  the 
innumerable  relations  and  forms  of  connection  between  the 
sensible  things  of  the  world,  finding  no  named  mental  states 
mirroring  such  relations,  they  have  for  the  most  part  denied 
that  any  such  states  exist;  and  many  of  them,  like  Hume,  have 
gone  on  to  deny  the  reality  of  most  relations  out  of  the  mind  as 
well  as  in  it.  Simple  substantive  '  ideas,'  sensations  and  their 
copies,  juxtaposed  like  dominoes  in  a  game,  but  really  separate, 
everything  else  verbal  illusion,  —  such  is  the  upshot  of  this 
view.  The  Intellectualists,  on  the  other  hand,  unable  to  give  up 
the  reality  of  relations  extra  mentem,  but  equally  unable  to 
point  to  any  distinct  substantive  feelings  in  which  they  were 
known,  have  made  the  same  admission  that  such  feelings  do  not 
exist.  But  they  have  drawn  an  opposite  conclusion.  The  rela- 
tions must  be  known,  they  say,  in  something  that  is  no  feeling, 
no  mental '  state,'  continuous  and  consubstantial  with  the  sub- 
jective tissue  out  of  which  sensations  and  other  substantive 
conditions  of  consciousness  are  made.  They  must  be  known  by 
something  that  lies  on  an  entirely  different  plane,  by  an  actus 
purus  of  Thought,  Intellect,  or  Reason,  all  written  with  capitals 
and  considered  to  mean  something  unutterably  superior  to  any 
passing  perishing  fact  of  sensibility  whatever. 

But  from  our  point  of  view  both  Intellectualists  and  Sensa- 
tionalists are  wrong.  If  there  be  such  things  as  feelings  at  all, 
then  so  surely  as  relations  between  objects  exist  in  rerum  natura, 
so  surely,  and  more  surely,  do  feelings  exist  to  which  these  relations 
are  known.  There  is  not  a  conjunction  or  a  preposition,  and 
hardly  an  adverbial  phrase,  syntactic  form,  or  inflection  of 
voice,  in  human  speech,  that  does  not  express  some  shading  or 
other  of  relation  which  we  at  some  moment  actually  feel  to  exist 
between  the  larger  objects  of  our  thought.  If  we  speak  object- 
ively, it  is  the  real  relations  that  appear  revealed;  if  we  speak 
subjectively,  it  is  the  stream  of  consciousness  that  matches  each 
of  them  by  an  inward  coloring  of  its  own.  In  either  case  the 
relations  are  numberless,  and  no  existing  language  is  capable  of 
doing  justice  to  all  their  shades. 

We  ought  to  say  a  feeling  of  and,  a  feeling  of  if,  a  feeling  of 


644  WILLIAM  JAMES 

but,  and  a  feeling  of  by,  quite  as  readily  as  we  say  a  feeling  of 
bltie  or  a  feeling  of  cold.  Yet  we  do  not :  so  inveterate  has  our 
habit  become  of  recognizing  the  existence  of  the  substantive 
parts  alone,  that  language  almost  refuses  to  lend  itself  to  any 
other  use.  Consider  once  again  the  analogy  of  the  brain.  We 
believe  the  brain  to  be  an  organ  whose  internal  equilibrium  is 
always  in  a  state  of  change  —  the  change  affecting  every  part. 
The  pulses  of  change  are  doubtless  more  violent  in  one  place 
than  in  another,  their  rhythm  more  rapid  at  this  time  than  at 
that.  As  in  a  kaleidoscope  revolving  at  a  uniform  rate,  al- 
though the  figures  are  always  rearranging  themselves,  there  are 
instants  during  which  the  transformation  seems  minute  and 
interstitial  and  almost  absent,  followed  by  others  when  it 
shoots  with  magical  rapidity,  relatively  stable  forms  thus  alter- 
nating with  forms  we  should  not  distinguish  if  seen  again ;  so  in 
the  brain  the  perpetual  rearrangement  must  result  in  some  forms 
of  tension  lingering  relatively  long,  whilst  others  simply  come 
and  pass.  But  if  consciousness  corresponds  to  the  fact  of  rear- 
rangement itself,  why,  if  the  rearrangement  stop  not,  should  the 
consciousness  ever  cease?  And  if  a  lingering  rearrangement 
brings  with  it  one  kind  of  consciousness,  why  should  not  a  swift 
rearrangement  bring  another  kind  of  consciousness  as  peculiar 
as  the  rearrangement  itself? 

The  object  before  the  mind  always  has  a  *  Fringe.* — There 
are  other  unnamed  modifications  of  consciousness  just  as  im- 
portant as  the  transitive  states,  and  just  as  cognitive  as  they. 
Examples  will  show  what  I  mean. 

Suppose  three  successive  persons  say  to  us: '  Wait! '  *  Hark! ' 
'Look! '  Our  consciousness  is  thrown  into  three  quite  different 
attitudes  of  expectancy,  although  no  definite  object  is  before  it 
in  any  one  of  the  three  cases.  Probably  no  one  will  deny  here  the 
existence  of  a  real  conscious  affection,  a  sense  of  the  direction 
from  which  an  impression  is  about  to  come,  although  no  posi- 
tive impression  is  yet  there.  Meanwhile  we  have  no  names  for 
the  psychoses  in  question  but  the  names  hark,  look,  and  wait. 

Suppose  We  try  to  recall  a  forgotten  name.  The  state  of  our 
consciousness  is  peculiar.  There  is  a  gap  therein;  but  no  mere 


PSYCHOLOGY  645 

gap.  It  is  a  gap  that  is  intensely  active.  A  sort  of  wraith  of  the 
name  is  in  it,  beckoning  us  in  a  given  direction,  making  us  at 
moments  tingle  with  the  sense  of  our  closeness,  and  then  letting 
us  sink  back  without  the  longed-for  term.  If  wrong  names  are 
proposed  to  us,  this  singularly  definite  gap  acts  immediately  so 
as  to  negate  them.  They  do  not  fit  into  its  mould.  And  the  gap 
of  one  word  does  not  feel  hke  the  gap  of  another,  all  empty  of 
content  as  both  might  seem  necessarily  to  be  when  described  as 
gaps.  When  I  vainly  try  to  recall  the  name  of  Spalding,  my  con- 
sciousness is  far  removed  from  what  it  is  when  I  vainly  try  to 
recall  the  name  of  Bowles.  There  are  innumerable  conscious- 
nesses of  want,  no  one  of  which  taken  in  itself  has  a  name,  but 
all  different  from  each  other.  Such  a  feeling  of  want  is  toio  coelo 
other  than  a  want  of  feeling:  it  is  an  intense  feeling.  The 
rhythm  of  a  lost  word  maybe  there  without  a  sound  to  clothe  it; 
or  the  evanescent  sense  of  something  which  is  the  initial  vowel 
or  consonant  may  mock  us  fitfully,  without  growing  more  dis- 
tinct. Every  one  must  know  the  tantalizing  effect  of  the  blank 
rhythm  of  some  forgotten  verse,  restlessly  dancing  in  one's 
mind,  striving  to  be  filled  out  with  words. 

What  is  that  first  instantaneous  glimpse  of  some  one's  mean- 
ing which  we  have,  when  in  vulgar  phrase  we  say  we  *  twig '  it? 
Surely  an  altogether  specific  affection  of  our  mind.  And  has  the 
reader  never  asked  himself  what  kind  of  a  mental  fact  is  his 
intention  of  saying  a  thing  before  he  has  said  it?  It  is  an  entirely 
definite  intention,  distinct  from  all  other  intentions,  an  abso- 
lutely distinct  state  of  consciousness,  therefore;  and  yet  how 
much  of  it  consists  of  definite  sensorial  images,  either  of  words 
or  of  things?  Hardly  anything!  Linger,  and  the  words  and 
things  come  into  the  mind;  the  anticipatory  intention,  the 
divination  is  there  no  more.  But  as  the  words  that  replace  it 
arrive,  it  welcomes  them  successively  and  calls  them  right  if 
they  agree  with  it,  it  rejects  them  and  calls  them  wrong  if  they 
do  not.  The  intention  to-say-so-and-so  is  the  only  name  it  can 
receive.  One  may  admit  that  a  good  third  of  our  psychic 
life  consists  in  these  rapid  premonitory  perspective  views  of 
schemes  of  thought  not  yet  articulate.  How  comes  it  about  that 


646  WILLIAM  JAMES 

a  man  reading  something  aloud  for  the  first  time  is  able  imme- 
diately to  emphasize  all  his  words  aright,  unless  from  the  very 
first  he  have  a  sense  of  at  least  the  form  of  the  sentence  yet  to 
come,  which  sense  is  fused  with  his  consciousness  of  the  present 
word,  and  modifies  its  emphasis  in  his  mind  so  as  to  make  him 
give  it  the  proper  accent  as  he  utters  it?  Emphasis  of  this  kind 
almost  altogether  depends  on  grammatical  construction.  If  we 
read '  no  more,'  we  expect  presently  a  *  than ' ;  if  we  read  *  how- 
ever,' it  is  a  '  yet,'  a  '  still,'  or  a  *  nevertheless,'  that  we  expect. 
And  this  foreboding  of  the  coming  verbal  and  gramrnatical 
scheme  is  so  practically  accurate  that  a  reader  incapable  of 
understanding  four  ideas  of  the  book  he  is  reading  aloud 
can  nevertheless  read  it  with  the  most  delicately  modulated 
expression  of  intelligence. 

It  is,  the  reader  will  see,  the  reinstatement  of  the  vague  and 
inarticulate  to  its  proper  place  in  our  mental  life  which  I  am  so 
anxious  to  press  on  the  attention.  Mr.  Galton  and  Prof.  Huxley 
have,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  chapter  on  Imagination,  made  one 
step  in  advance  in  exploding  the  ridiculous  theory  of  Hume  and 
Berkeley  that  we  can  have  no  images  but  of  perfectly  definite 
things.  Another  is  made  if  we  overthrow  the  equally  ridiculous 
notion  that,  whilst  simple  objective  qualities  are  revealed  to 
our  knowledge  in  *  states  of  consciousness,'  relations  are  not. 
But  these  reforms  are  not  half  sweeping  and  radical  enough. 
What  must  be  admitted  is  that  the  definite  images  of  tradi- 
tional psychology  form  but  the  very  smallest  part  of  our  minds 
as  they  actually  live.  The  traditional  psychology  talks  like  one 
who  should  say  a  river  consists  of  nothing  but  pailsful,  spoons- 
ful, quartpotsful,  barrelsful,  and  other  moulded  forms  of  water. 
Even  were  the  pails  and  the  pots  all  actually  standing  in  the 
stream,  still  between  them  the  free  water  would  continue  to 
flow.  It  is  just  this  free  water  of  consciousness  that  psycholo- 
gists resolutely  overlook.  Every  definite  image  in  the  mind  is 
steeped  and  dyed  in  the  free  water  that  flows  round  it.  With  it 
goes  the  sense  of  its  relations,  near  and  remote,  the  dying  echo 
of  whence  it  came  to  us,  the  dawning  sense  of  whither  it  is  to 
lead.  The  significance,  the  value,  of  the  image  is  all  in  this  halo 


PSYCHOLOGY 


647 


or  penumbra  that  surrounds  and  escorts  it,  — ■  or  rather  that  is 
fused  into  one  with  it  and  has  become  bone  of  its  bone  and  flesh 
of  its  flesh;  leaving  it,  it  is  true,  an  image  of  the  same  thing  it 
was  before,  but  making  it  an  image  of  that  thing  newly  taken 
and  freshly  understood. 

Let  us  call  the  consciousness  of  this  halo  of  relations  around  the 
image  by  the  name  of  'psychic  overtone  '  or  '  fringe.' 

Cerebral  Conditions  of  the  'Fringe.' — Nothing  is  easier 
than  to  symbolize  these  facts  in  terms  of  brain-action.  Just  as 
the  echo  of  the  whence,  the  sense  of  the  starting  point  of  our 
thought,  is  probably  due  to  the  dying  excitement  of  processes 
but  a  moment  since  vividly  aroused ;  so  the  sense  of  the  whither, 
the  foretaste  of  the  terminus,  must  be  due  to  the  waxing  excite- 
ment of  tracts  or  processes  whose  psychical  correlative  will  a 
moment  hence  be  the  vividly  present  feature  of  our  thought. 
Represented  by  a  curve,  the  neurosis  underlying  consciousness 
must  at  any  moment  be  like  this: 

Let  the  horizontal  in  Fig.  i  be  the  line  of  time,  and  let  the 


Fig,  I. 


three  curves  beginning  at  a,  &,  and  c  respectively  stand  for  the 
neural  processes  correlated  with  the  thoughts  of  those  three 
letters.  Each  process  occupies  a  certain  time  during  which  its 
intensity  waxes,  culminates,  and  wanes.  The  process  for  a  has 
not  yet  died  out,  the  process  for  c  has  already  begun,  when  that 
for  b  is  culminating.  At  the  time-instant  represented  by  the 
vertical  line  all  three  processes  are  present,  in  the  intensities 
shown  by  the  curve.  Those  before  c's  apex  ivere  more  intense  a 
moment  ago;  those  after  it  will  be  more  intense  a  moment 


648  WILLIAM  JAMES 

hence.  If  I  recite  a,  b,  c,  then,  at  the  moment  of  uttering  b, 
neither  a  nor  c  is  out  of  my  consciousness  altogether,  but  both, 
after  their  respective  fashions,  *  mix  their  dim  Hghts  '  with  the 
stronger  b,  because  their  processes  are  both  awake  in  some 
degree. 

It  is  just  Hke  '  overtones '  in  music:  they  are  not  separately 
heard  by  the  ear;  they  blend  with  the  fundamental  note,  and 
suffuse  it,  and  alter  it;  and  even  so  do  the  waxing  and  waning 
brain-processes  at  every  moment  blend  with  and  suffuse  and 
alter  the  psychic  effect  of  the  processes  which  are  at  their 
culminating  point. 

The  *  Topic '  of  the  Thought.  —  If  we  then  consider  the  cog- 
nitive function  of  different  states  of  mind,  we  may  feel  assured 
that  the  difference  between  those  that  are  mere  '  acquaintance ' 
and  those  that  are  '  knowledges-about '  is  reducible  almost  en- 
tirely to  the  absence  or  presence  of  psychic  fringes  or  overtones. 
Knowledge  about  a  thing  is  knowledge  of  its  relations.  Ac- 
quaintance with  it  is  limitation  to  the  bare  impression  which  it 
makes.  Of  most  of  its  relations  we  are  only  aware  in  the  penum- 
bral  nascent  way  of  a  '  fringe  '  of  unarticulated  affinities  about 
it.  And,  before  passing  to  the  next  topic  in  order,  I  must  say  a 
little  of  this  sense  of  affinity,  as  itself  one  of  the  most  interesting 
features  of  the  subjective  stream. 

.  Thought  may  be  equally  rational  in  any  sort  of  terms. — In  all 
our  voluntary  thinking  there  is  some  topic  or  subject  about 
which  all  the  members  of  the  thought  revolve.  Relation  to  this 
topic  or  interest  is  constantly  felt  in  the  fringe,  and  particularly 
the  relation  of  harmony  and  discord,  of  furtherance  or  hind- 
rance of  the  topic.  Any  thought  the  quality  of  whose  fringe  lets 
us  feel  ourselves  '  all  right,'  may  be  considered  a  thought  that 
furthers  the  topic.  Provided  we  only  feel  its  object  to  have  a 
place  in  the  scheme  of  relations  in  which  the  topic  also  lies,  that 
is  sufficient  to  make  it  of  a  relevant  and  appropriate  portion  of 
our  train  of  ideas. 

Now  we  may  think  about  our  topic  mainly  in  words,  or  we 
may  think  about  it  mainly  in  visual  or  other  images,  but  this 
need  make  no  difference  as  regards  the  furtherance  of  our 


PSYCHOLOGY  649 

knowledge  of  the  topic.  If  we  only  feel  in  the  terms,  whatever 
they  be,  a  fringe  of  affinity  with  each  other  and  with  the  topic, 
and  if  we  are  conscious  of  approaching  a  conclusion,  we  feel 
that  our  thought  is  rational  and  right.  The  words  in  every 
language  have  contracted  by  long  association  fringes  of  mutual 
repugnance  or  affinity  with  each  other  and  with  the  conclusion, 
which  run  exactly  parallel  with  Hke  fringes  in  the  visual,  tactile, 
and  other  ideas.  The  most  important  element  of  these  fringes 
is,  I  repeat,  the  mere  feeling  of  harmony  or  discord,  of  a  right  or 
wrong  direction  in  the  thought. 

If  we  know  English  and  French  and  begin  a  sentence  in 
French,  all  the  later  words  that  come  are  French;  we  hardly 
ever  drop  into  English.  And  this  affinity  of  the  French  words 
for  each  other  is  not  something  merely  operating  mechanically 
as  a  brain-law,  it  is  something  we  feel  at  the  time.  Our  under- 
•  standing  of  a  French  sentence  heard  never  falls  to  so  low  an  ebb 
that  we  are  not  aware  that  the  words  linguistically  belong  to- 
gether. Our  attention  can  hardly  so  wander  that  if  an  English 
word  be  suddenly  introduced  we  shall  not  start  at  the  change. 
Such  a  vague  sense  as  this  of  the  words  belonging  together  is 
the  very  minimum  of  fringe  that  can  accompany  them,  if 
'  thought '  at  all.  Usually  the  vague  perception  that  all  the 
words  we  hear  belong  to  the  same  language  and  to  the  same 
special  vocabulary  in  that  language,  and  that  the  grammatical 
sequence  is  familiar,  is  practically  equivalent  to  an  admission 
that  what  we  hear  is  sense.  But  if  an  unusual  foreign  word  be 
introduced,  if  the  grammar  trip,  or  if  a  term  from  an  incon- 
gruous vocabulary  suddenly  appear,  such  as  *  rat-trap '  or 
'  plumber's  bill '  in  a  philosophical  discourse,  the  sentence 
detonates  as  it  were,  we  receive  a  shock  from  the  incongruity, 
and  the  drowsy  assent  is  gone.  The  feeling  of  rationality  in 
these  cases  seems  rather  a  negative  than  a  positive  thing,  being 
the  mere  absence  of  shock,  or  sense  of  discord,  between  the 
terms  of  thought. 

Conversely,  if  words  do  belong  to  the  same  vocabulary,  and 
if  the  grammatical  structure  is  correct,  sentences  with  abso- 
lutely no  meaning  may  be  uttered  in  good  faith  and  pass  un- 


6so  WILLIAM  JAMES 

challenged.  Discourses  at  prayer-meetings,  reshufiUng  the 
same  collection  of  cant  phrases  and  the  whole  genus  of  penny-a- 
line-isms  and  newspaper-reporter's  flourishes  give  illustrations 
of  this.  "  The  birds  filled  the  tree- tops  with  their  morning 
song,  making  the  air  moist,  cool,  and  pleasant,"  is  a  sentence 
I  remember  reading  once  in  a  report  of  some  athletic  exer- 
cises in  Jerome  Park.  It  was  probably  written  unconsciously 
by  the  hurried  reporter,  and  read  imcritically  by  many 
readers. 

We  see,  then,  that  it  makes  little  or  no  difference  in  what  sort 
of  mind-stuff,  in  what  quality  of  imagery,  our  thinking  goes  on. 
The  only  images  intrinsically  important  are  the  halting-places, 
the  substantive  conclusions,  provisional  or  final,  of  the  thought. 
Throughout  all  the  rest  of  the  stream,  the  feelings  of  relation 
are  everything,  and  the  terms  related  almost  naught.  These 
feelings  of  relation,  these  psychic  overtones,  halos,  suffusions, 
or  fringes  about  the  terms,  may  be  the  same  in  very  different 

systems  of  imagery.  A  diagram 

may  help  to  accentuate  this  in- 

^<i^;;:;^p=^C:^^.^--«-'--^^-N_c;;;;;;;^^2y  difference  of  the  mental  means 

where  the  end  is  the  same.  Let 
A  be  some  experience  from 
which  a  number  of  thinkers 
start.  Let  Z  be  the  practical 
^^'  ''  conclusion  rationally  inferrable 

from  it.  One  gets  to  this  conclusion  by  one  line,  another  by 
another  ;  one  follows  a  course  of  English,  another  of  German, 
verbal  imagery.  With  one,  visual  images  predominate;  with 
another,  tactile.  Some  trains  are  tinged  with  emotions,  others 
not;  some  are  very  abridged,  synthetic  and  rapid;  others,  hesi- 
tating and  broken  into  many  steps.  But  when  the  penultimate 
terms  of  all  the  trains,  however  differing  inter  se,  finally  shoot 
into  the  same  conclusion,  we  say,  and  rightly  say,  that  all  the 
thinkers  have  had  substantially  the  same  thought.  It  would 
probably  astound  each  of  them  beyond  measure  to  be  let  into 
his  neighbor's  mind  and  to  find  how  different  the  scenery  there 
was  from  that  in  his  own. 


PSYCHOLOGY  '   651 

The  last  peculiarity  to  which  attention  is  to  be  drawn  in  this 
first  rough  description  of  thoughts'  stream  is  that  — 

Consciousness  is  always  interested  more  in  one  part  of  its 
object  than  in  another,  and  welcomes  and  rejects,  or  chooses, 
all  the  while  it  thinks. 

The  phenomena  of  selective  attention  and  of  deliberative 
will  are  of  course  patent  examples  of  this  choosing  activity. 
But  few  of  us  are  aware  how  incessantly  it  is  at  work  in  opera- 
tions not  ordinarily  called  by  these  names.  Accentuation  and 
Emphasis  are  present  in  every  perception  we  have.  We  find  it 
quite  impossible  to  disperse  our  attention  impartially  over  a 
number  of  impressions.  A  monotonous  succession  of  sonorous 
strokes  is  broken  up  into  rhythms,  now  of  one  sort,  now  of  an- 
other, by  the  different  accent  which  we  place  on  different 
strokes.  The  simplest  of  these  rhythms  is  the  double  one,  tick- 
t6ck,  tick-t6ck,  tick-t6ck.  Dots  dispersed  on  a  surface  are  per- 
ceived in  rows  and  groups.  Lines  separate  into  diverse  figures. 
The  ubiquity  of  the  distinctions,  this  and  that,  here  and  there, 
now  and  then,  in  our  minds  is  the  result  of  our  laying  the  same 
selective  emphasis  on  parts  of  place  and  time. 

But  we  do  far  more  than  emphasize  things,  and  unite  some, 
and  keep  others  apart.  We  actually  ignore  most  of  the  things 
before  us.  Let  me  briefly  show  how  this  goes  on. 

To  begin  at  the  bottom,  what  are  our  very  senses  themselves, 
but  organs  of  selection?  Out  of  the  infinite  chaos  of  move- 
ments, of  which  physics  teaches  us  that  the  outer  world  con- 
sists, each  sense-organ  picks  out  those  which  fall  within  certain 
limits  of  velocity.  To  these  it  responds,  but  ignores  the  rest  as 
completely  as  if  they  did  not  exist.  Out  of  what  is  in  itself  an 
undistinguishable,  swarming  continuum,  devoid  of  distinction 
or  emphasis,  our  senses  make  for  us,  by  attending  to  this  mo- 
tion and  ignoring  that,  a  world  full  of  contrasts,  of  sharp 
accents,  of  abrupt  changes,  of  picturesque  light  and  shade. 

If  the  sensations  we  receive  from  a  given  organ  have  their 
causes  thus  picked  out  for  us  by  the  conformation  of  the  organ's 
termination.  Attention,  on  the  other  hand,  out  of  all  the  sensa- 
tions yielded,  picks  out  certain  ones  as  worthy  of  its  notice  and 


6s  2  WILLIAM  JAMES 

suppresses  all  the  rest.  We  notice  only  those  sensations  which 
are  signs  to  us  of  things  which  happen  practically  or  aesthetically 
to  interest  us,  to  which  we  therefore  give  substantive  names, 
and  which  we  exalt  to  this  exclusive  status  of  independence  and 
dignity.  But  in  itself,  apart  from  my  interest,  a  particular  dust- 
wreath  on  a  windy  day  is  just  as  much  of  an  individual  thing, 
and  just  as  much  or  as  little  deserves  an  individual  name,  as 
my  own  body  does. 

And  then,  among  the  sensations  we  get  from  each  separate 
thing,  what  happens?  The  mind  selects  again.  It  chooses  cer- 
tain of  the  sensations  to  represent  the  thing  most  truly,  and 
considers  the  rest  as  its  appearances,  modified  by  the  condi- 
tions of  the  moment.  Thus  my  table-top  is  named  sqttare,  after 
but  one  of  an  infinite  number  of  retinal  sensations  which  it 
yields,  the  rest  of  them  being  sensations  of  two  acute  and  two 
obtuse  angles;  but  I  call  the  latter  perspective  views,  and  the 
four  right  angles  the  true  form  of  the  table,  and  erect  the  at- 
tribute squareness  into  the  table's  essence,  for  aesthetic  reasons 
of  my  own.  In  hke  manner,  the  real  form  of  the  circle  is  deemed 
to  be  the  sensation  it  gives  when  the  line  of  vision  is  perpendicu- 
lar to  its  centre  —  all  its  other  sensations  are  signs  of  this  sensa- 
tion. The  real  sound  of  the  cannon  is  the  sensation  it  makes 
when  the  ear  is  close  by.  The  real  color  of  the  brick  is  the  sensa- 
tion it  gives  when  the  eye  looks  squarely  at  it  from  a  near  point, 
out  of  the  sunshine  and  yet  not  in  the  gloom ;  under  other  cir- 
cumstances it  gives  us  other  color-sensations  which  are  but 
signs  of  this  —  we  then  see  it  look  pinker  or  bluer  than  it 
really  is.  The  reader  knows  no  object  which  he  does  not  repre- 
sent to  himself  by  preference  as  in  some  typical  attitude,  of 
some  normal  size,  at  some  characteristic  distance,  of  some  stan- 
dard tint,  etc.,  etc.  But  all  these  essential  characteristics, 
which  together  form  for  us  the  genuine  objectivity  of  the  thing 
and  are  contrasted  with  what  we  call  the  subjective  sensations 
it  may  yield  us  at  a  given  moment,  are  mere  sensations  like  the 
latter.  The  mind  chooses  to  suit  itself,  and  decides  what  par- 
ticular sensation  shall  be  held  more  real  and  valid  than  all  the 
rest. 


PSYCHOLOGY  653 

Next,  in  a  world  of  objects  thus  individualized  by  our  mind's 
selective  industry,  what  is  called  our  '  experience '  is  almost 
entirely  determined  by  our  habits  of  attention,  A  thing  may  be 
present  to  a  man  a  hundred  times,  but  if  he  presistently  fails  to 
notice  it,  it  cannot  be  said  to  enter  into  his  experience.  We 
are  all  seeing  flies,  moths,  and  beetles  by  the  thousand,  but  to 
whom,  save  an  entomologist,  do  they  say  anything  distinct? 
On  the  other  hand,  a  thing  met  only  once  in  a  lifetime  may  leave 
an  indelible  experience  in  the  memory.  Let  four  men  make  a 
tour  in  Europe.  One  will  bring  home  only  picturesque  impres- 
sions - —  costumes  and  colors,  parks  and  views  and  works  of 
architecture,  pictures  and  statues.  To  another  all  this  will  be 
non-existent;  and  distances  and  prices,  populations  and  drain- 
age-arrangements, door-  and  window-fastenings,  and  other 
useful  statistics  will  take  their  place.  A  third  will  give  a  rich 
account  of  the  theatres,  restaurants,  and  public  halls,  and 
naught  beside;  whilst  the  fourth  will  perhaps  have  been  so 
wrapped  in  his  own  subjective  broodings  as  to  be  able  to  tell 
little  more  than  a  few  names  of  places  through  which  he  passed. 
Each  has  selected,  out  of  the  same  mass  of  presented  objects, 
those  which  suited  his  private  interest  and  has  made  his  experi- 
ence thereby. 

If  now,  leaving  the  empirical  combination  of  objects,  we  ask 
how  the  mind  proceeds  rationally  to  connect  them,  we  find 
selection  again  to  be  omnipotent.  In  a  future  chapter  we  shall 
see  that  all  Reasoning  depends  on  the  ability  of  the  mind  to 
break  up  the  totality  of  the  phenomenon  reasoned  about,  into 
parts,  and  to  pick  out  from  among  these  the  particular  one 
which,  in  the  given  emergency,  may  lead  to  the  proper  conclu- 
sion. The  man  of  genius  is  he  who  will  always  stick  in  his  bill 
at  the  right  point,  and  bring  it  out  with  the  right  element  — 
*  reason '  if  the  emergency  be  theoretical,  '  means '  if  it  be 
practical  —  transfixed  upon  it. 

If  now  we  pass  to  the  aesthetic  department,  our  law  is  still 
more  obvious.  The  artist  notoriously  selects  his  items,  rejecting 
all  tones,  colors,  shapes,  which  do  not  harmonize  with  each 
other  and  with  the  main  purpose  of  his  work.  That  unity,  har- 


6S4  WILLIAM  JAMES 

mony,  *  convergence  of  characters,'  as  M.  Taine  calls  it,  which 
gives  to  works  of  art  their  superiority  over  works  of  nature,  is 
wholly  due  to  elimination.  Any  natural  subject  will  do,  if  the 
artist  has  wit  enough  to  pounce  up>on  some  one  feature  of  it  as 
characteristic,  and  suppress  all  merely  accidental  items  which 
do  not  harmonize  with  this. 

Ascending  still,  higher,  we  reach  the  plane  of  Ethics,  where 
choice  reigns  notoriously  supreme.  An  act  has  no  ethical  qual- 
ity whatever  unless  it  be  chosen  out  of  several  all  equally  pos- 
sible. To  sustain  the  arguments  for  the  good  course  and  keep 
them  ever  before  us,  to  stifle  our  longing  for  more  flowery  ways, 
to  keep  the  foot  unflinchingly  on  the  arduous  path,  these  are 
characteristic  ethical  energies.  But  more  than  these;  for  these 
but  deal  with  the  means  of  compassing  interests  already  felt  by 
the  man  to  be  supreme.  The  ethical  energy  par  excellence  has  to 
go  farther  and  choose  which  interest  out  of  several,  equally  co- 
ercive, shall  become  supreme.  The  issue  here  is  of  the  utmost 
pregnancy,  for  it  decides  a  man's  entire  career.  When  he  de- 
bates. Shall  I  commit  this  crime?  choose  that  profession?  ac- 
cept that  office,  or  marry  this  fortune?  —  his  choice  really  lies 
between  one  of  several  equally  possible  future  Characters. 
What  he  shall  become  is  fixed  by  the  conduct  of  this  moment. 
Schopenhauer,  who  enforces  his  determinism  by  the  argument 
that  with  a  given  fixed  character  only  one  reaction  is  possible 
under  given  circumstances,  forgets  that,  in  these  critical  ethical 
moments,  what  consciously  seems  to  be  in  question  is  the  com- 
plexion of  the  character  itself.  The  problem  with  the  man  is 
less  what  act  he  shall  now  resolve  to  do  than  what  being  he  shall 
now  choose  to  become. 

Taking  human  experience  in  a  general  way,  the  choosings  of 
different  men  are  to  a  great  extent  the  same.  The  race  as  a 
whole  largely  agrees  as  to  what  it  shall  notice  and  name;  and 
among  the  noticed  parts  we  select  in  much  the  same  way  for 
accentuation  and  preference,  or  subordination  and  dislike. 
There  is,  however,  one  entirely  extraordinary  case  in  which  no 
two  men  ever  are  known  to  choose  alike.  One  great  splitting 
of  the  whole  universe  into  two  halves  is  made  by  each  of  us; 


PSYCHOLOGY  655 

and  for  each  of  us  almost  all  of  the  interest  attaches  to  one  of 
the  halves;  but  we  all  draw  the  line  of  division  between  them 
in  a  different  place.  When  I  say  that  we  all  call  the  two  halves 
by  the  same  names,  and  that  those  names  are  '  me  '  and  *  not- 
me  '  respectively,  it  will  at  once  be  seen  what  I  mean.  The  alto- 
gether unique  kind  of  interest  which  each  human  mind  feels  in 
those  parts  of  creation  which  it  can  call  me  or  mine  may  be  a 
moral  riddle,  but  it  is  a  fundamental  psychological  fact.  No 
mind  can  take  the  same  interest  in  his  neighbor's  me  as  in  his 
own.  The  neighbor's  me  falls  together  with  all  the  rest  of  things 
in  one  foreign  mass  against  which  his  own  me  stands  out  in 
startling  relief.  Even  the  trodden  worm,  as  Lotze  somewhere 
says,  contrasts  his  own  suffering  self  with  the  whole  remaining 
universe,  though  he  have  no  clear  conception  either  of  himself  or 
of  what  the  universe  may  be.  He  is  for  me  a  mere  part  of  the 
world ;  for  him  it  is  I  who  am  the  mere  part.  Each  of  us  dicho- 
tomizes the  Kosmos  in  a  different  place. 

CHAPTER  XXIV.     EMOTION^ 

Emotions  compared  with  Instincts.  —  An  emotion  is  a  tend- 
ency to  feel,  and  an  instinct  is  a  tendency  to  act,  characteristic- 
ally, when  in  presence  of  a  certain  object  in  the  environment. 
But  the  emotions  also  have  their  bodily  '  expression,'  which 
may  involve  strong  muscular  activity  (as  in  fear  or  anger,  for 
example) ;  and  it  becomes  a  little  hard  in  many  cases  to  separate 
the  description  of  the  '  emotional '  condition  from  that  of  the 
*  instinctive  '  reaction  which  one  and  the  same  object  may  pro- 
voke. Shall  fear  be  described  in  the  chapter  on  Instincts  or  in 
that  on  Emotions?  Where  shall  one  describe  curiosity,  emula- 
tion, and  the  like?  The  answer  is  quite  arbitrary  from  the  scien- 
tific point  of  view,  and  practical  convenience  may  decide.  As 
inner  mental  conditions,  emotions  are  quite  indescribable. 
Description,  moreover,  would  be  superfluous,  for  the  reader 

*  The  substance  of  this  chapter  first  appeared  in  an  article  published  in 
Mind'm  1884,  and  again  as  a  chapter  in  the  author's  Principles  0/  Psychology, 
in  iSgo. 


6s6  WILLIAM  JAMES 

knows  already  how  they  feel.  Their  relations  to  the  objects 
which  prompt  them  and  to  the  reactions  which  they  provoke 
are  all  that  one  can  put  down  in  a  book. 

Every  object  that  excites  an  instinct  excites  an  emotion  as 
well.  The  only  distinction  one  may  draw  is  that  the  reaction 
called  emotional  terminates  in  the  subject's  own  body,  whilst 
the  reaction  called  instinctive  is  apt  to  go  farther  and  enter 
into  practical  relations  with  the  exciting  object.  In  both 
instinct  and  emotion  the  mere  memory  or  imagination  of  the 
object  may  suffice  to  liberate  the  excitement.  One  may  even 
get  angrier  in  thinking  over  one's  insult  than  one  was  in  receiv- 
ing it;  and  melt  more  over  a  mother  who  is  dead  than  one  ever 
did  when  she  was  living.  In  the  rest  of  the  chapter  I  shall  use 
the  word  object  of  emotion  indifferently  to  mean  one  which  is 
physically  present  or  one  which  is  merely  thought  of. 

The  varieties  of  emotion  are  innumerable.  —  Angers  fear,  lovCy 
hate,  joy,  grief,  shame,  pride,  and  their  varieties,  may  be  called 
the  coarser  emotions,  being  coupled  as  they  are  with  relatively 
strong  bodily  reverberations.  The  subtler  emotions  are  the 
moral,  intellectual,  and  aesthetic  feelings,  and  their  bodily  reac- 
tion is  usually  much  less  strong.  The  mere  description  of  the 
objects,  circumstances,  and  varieties  of  the  different  species  of 
emotion  may  go  to  any  length.  Their  internal  shadings  merge 
endlessly  into  each  other,  and  have  been  partly  commemorated 
in  language,  as,  for  example,  by  such  synonyms  as  hatred, 
antipathy,  animosity,  resentment,  dislike,  aversion,  malice, 
spite,  revenge,  abhorrence,  etc.,  etc.  Dictionaries  of  s>Tionyms 
have  discriminated  them,  as  well  as  text-books  of  psychology 
—  in  fact,  many  German  psychological  text-books  are  nothing 
but  dictionaries  of  synonyms  when  it  comes  to  the  chapter  on 
Emotion.  But  there  are  limits  to  the  profitable  elaboration  of 
the  obvious,  and  the  result  of  all  this  flux  is  that  the  merely 
descriptive  literature  of  the  subject,  from  Descartes  down- 
wards is  one  of  the  most  tedious  parts  of  psychology.  And  not 
only  is  it  tedious,  but  you  feel  that  its  subdivisions  are  to  a 
great  extent  either  fictitious  or  unimportant,  and  that  its  pre- 
tences to  accuracy  are  a  sham.   But  unfortunately  there  is 


PSYCHOLOGY  657 

little  psychological  writing  about  the  emotions  which  is  not 
merely  descriptive.  As  emotions  are  described  in  novels,  they 
interest  us,  for  we  are  made  to  share  them.  We  have  grown 
acquainted  with  the  concrete  objects  and  emergencies  which 
call  them  forth,  and  any  knowing  touch  of  introspection  which 
may  grace  the  page  meets  with  a  quick  and  feeHng  response. 
Confessedly  literary  works  of  aphoristic  philosophy  also  flash 
lights  into  our  emotional  Hfe,  and  give  us  a  fitful  delight.  But 
as  far  as  the  *  scientific  psychology '  of  the  emotions  goes,  I  may 
have  been  surfeited  by  too  much  reading  of  classic  works  on  the 
subject,  but  I  would  as  Uef  read  verbal  descriptions  of  the  shapes 
of  the  rocks  on  a  New  Hampshire  farm  as  toil  through  them 
again.  They  give  one  nowhere  a  central  point  of  view,  or  a  de- 
ductive or  generative  principle.  They  distinguish  and  refine 
and  specify  in  infinitum  without  ever  getting  on  to  another 
logical  level.  Whereas  the  beauty  of  all  truly  scientific  work  is 
to  get  to  ever  deeper  levels.  Is  there  no  way  out  from  this  level 
of  individual  description  in  the  case  of  the  emotions?  I  beheve 
there  is  a  way  out,  if  one  will  only  take  it. 

The  Cause  of  their  Varieties.  —  The  trouble  with  the  emo- 
tions in  psychology  is  that  they  are  regarded  too  much  as  abso- 
lutely individual  things.  So  long  as  they  are  set  down  as  so 
many  eternal  and  sacred  psychic  entities,  like  the  old  immu- 
table species  in  natural  history,  so  long  all  that  cati  be  done 
with  them  is  reverently  to  catalogue  their  separate  characters, 
points,  and  effects.  But  if  we  regard  them  as  products  of  more 
general  causes  (as  '  species  '  are  now  regarded  as  products  of 
heredity  and  variation) ,  the  mere  distinguishing  and  catalogu- 
ing becomes  of  subsidiary  importance.  Having  the  goose  which 
lays  the  golden  eggs,  the  description  of  each  egg  already  laid  is 
a  minor  matter.  I  will  devote  the  next  few  pages  to  setting 
forth  one  very  general  cause  of  our  emotional  feeling,  limiting 
myself  in  the  first  instance  to  what  may  be  called  the  coarser 
emotions. 

The  feeling,  in  the  coarser  emotions,  results  from  the  bodily 
expression.  —  Our  natural  way  of  thinking  about  these  coarser 
emotions  is  that  the  mental  perception  of  some  fact  excites  the 


6s8  WILLIAM  JAMES 

mental  affection  called  the  emotion,  and  that  this  latter  state 
of  mind  gives  rise  to  the  bodily  expression.  My  theory,  on  the 
contrary,  is  that  the  bodily  changes  follow  directly  the  perception 
of  the  exciting  fact,  and  that  our  feeling  of  the  same  changes  as 
they  occur  is  the  emotion.  Common-sense  says,  we  lose  our  for- 
tune, are  sorry  and  weep ;  we  meet  a  bear,  are  frightened  and 
run;  we  are  insulted  by  a  rival,  are  angry  and  strike.  The 
hypothesis  here  to  be  defended  says  that  this  order  of  sequence 
is  incorrect,  and  the  one  mental  state  is  not  immediately  in- 
duced by  the  other,  that  the  bodily  manifestations  must  first 
be  interposed  between,  and  that  the  more  rational  statement  is 
that  we  feel  sorry  because  we  cry,  angry  because  we  strike, 
afraid  because  we  tremble,  and  not  that  we  cry,  strike,  or  trem- 
ble because  we  are  sorry,  angry,  or  fearful,  as  the  case  may  be. 
Without  the  bodily  states  following  on  the  perception,  the  lat- 
ter would  be  purely  cognitive  in  form,  pale,  colorless,  destitute 
of  emotional  warmth.  We  might  then  see  the  bear  and  judge 
it  best  to  run,  receive  the  insult  and  deem  it  right  to  strike,  but 
we  should  not  actually /eg/  afraid  or  angry. 

Stated  in  this  crude  way,  the  hypothesis  is  pretty  sure  to 
meet  with  immediate  disbelief.  And  yet  neither  many  nor 
far-fetched  considerations  are  required  to  mitigate  its  para- 
doxical character,  and  possibly  to  produce  conviction  of  its 
truth. 

To  begin  with,  particular  perceptions  certainly  do  produce 
wide-spread  bodily  ejects  by  a  sort  of  immediate  physical  influ- 
ence, antecedent  to  the  arousal  of  an  emotion  or  emotional  idea. 
In  listening  to  poetry,  drama,  or  heroic  narrative  we  are  often 
surprised  at  the  cutaneous  shiver  which  like  a  sudden  wave 
flows  over  us,  and  at  the  heart-swelling  and  the  lachrymal 
effusion  that  unexpectedly  catch  us  at  intervals.  In  hearing 
music  the  same  is  even  more  strikingly  true.  If  we  abruptly  see 
a  dark  moving  form  in  the  woods,  our  heart  stops  beating,  and 
we  catch  our  breath  instantly  and  before  any  articulate  idea  of 
danger  can  arise.  If  our  friend  goes  near  to  the  edge  of  a  preci- 
pice, we  get  the  well-known  feeling  of  *  all-overishness,'  and 
we  shrink  back,  although  we  positively  know  him  to  be  safe, 


PSYCHOLOGY  659 

and  have  no  distinct  imagination  of  his  fall.  The  writer  well 
remembers  his  astonishment,  when  a  boy  of  seven  or  eight,  at 
fainting  when  he  saw  a  horse  bled.  The  blood  was  in  a  bucket, 
with  a  stick  in  it,  and,  if  memory  does  not  deceive  him,  he 
stirred  it  round  and  saw  it  drip  from  the  stick  with  no  feeling 
save  that  of  childish  curiosity.  Suddenly  the  world  grew  black 
before  his  eyes,  his  ears  began  to  buzz,  and  he  knew  no  more. 
He  had  never  heard  of  the  sight  of  blood  producing  faintness  or 
sickness,  and  he  had  so  Uttle  repugnance  to  it,  and  so  little 
apprehension  of  any  other  sort  of  danger  from  it,  that  even  at 
that  tender  age,  as  he  well  remembers,  he  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing how  the  mere  physical  presence  of  a  pailful  of  crimson  fluid 
could  occasion  in  him  such  formidable  bodily  effects. 

The  best  proof  that  the  immediate  cause  of  emotion  is  a 
physical  effect  on  the  nerves  is  furnished  by  those  pathological 
cases  in  which  the  emotion  is  objectless.  One  of  the  chief  merits, 
in  fact,  of  the  view  which  I  propose  seems  to  be  that  we  can  so 
easily  formulate  by  its  means  pathological  cases  and  normal 
cases  under  a  common  scheme.  In  every  asylum  we  find  exam- 
ples of  absolutely  unmotived  fear,  anger,  melancholy,  or  con- 
ceit; and  others  of  an  equally  unmotived  apathy  which  persists 
in  spite  of  the  best  of  outward  reasons  why  it  should  give  way. 
In  the  former  cases  we  must  suppose  the  nervous  machinery  to 
be  so  '  labile  '  in  some  one  emotional  direction  that  almost 
every  stimulus  (however  inappropriate)  causes  it  to  upset  in 
that  way,  and  to  engender  the  particular  complex  of  feelings  of 
which  the  psychic  body  of  the  emotion  consists.  Thus,  to  take 
one  special  instance,  if  inability  to  draw  deep  breath,  fluttering 
of  the  heart,  and  that  peculiar  epigastric  change  felt  as  '  pre- 
cordial anxiety,'  with  an  irresistible  tendency  to  take  a  some- 
what crouching  attitude  and  to  sit  still,  and  with  perhaps  other 
visceral  processes  not  now  known,  all  spontaneously  occur  to- 
gether in  a  certain  person,  his  feeling  of  their  combination  is  the 
emotion  of  dread,  and  he  is  the  victim  of  what  is  known  as 
morbid  fear.  A  friend  who  has  had  occasional  attacks  of  this 
most  distressing  of  all  maladies  tells  me  that  in  his  case  the 
whole  drama  seems  to  centre  about  the  region  of  the  heart  and 


66o  WILLIAM  JAMES 

respiratory  apparatus,  that  his  main  effort  during  the  attacks 
is  to  get  control  of  his  inspirations  and  to  slow  his  heart,  and 
that  the  nioment  he  attains  to  breathing  deeply  and  to  holding 
himself  erect,  the  dread,  ipso  facto,  seems  to  depart. 

The  emotion  here  is  nothing  but  the  feeling  of  a  bodily  state, 
and  it  has  a  purely  bodily  cause. 

The  next  thing  to  be  noticed  is  this,  that  every  one  of  the 
bodily  changes,  whatsoever  it  be,  is  felt,  acutely  or  obscurely,  the 
moment  it  occurs.  If  the  reader  has  never  paid  attention  to  this 
matter,  he  will  be  both  interested  and  astonished  to  learn  how 
many  different  local  bodily  feelings  he  can  detect  in  himself  as 
characteristic  of  his  various  emotional  moods.  It  would  be  per- 
haps too  much  to  expect  him  to  arrest  the  tide  of  any  strong 
gust  of  passion  for  the  sake  of  any  such  curious  analysis  as  this; 
but  he  can  observe  more  tranquil  states,  and  that  may  be 
assumed  here  to  be  true  of  the  greater  which  is  shown  to  be 
true  of  the  less.  Our  whole  cubic  capacity  is  sensibly  alive; 
and  each  morsel  of  it  contributes  its  pulsations  of  feeling,  dim 
or  sharp,  pleasant,  painful,  or  dubious,  to  that  sense  of  per- 
sonality that  every  one  of  us  unfailingly  carries  with  him.  It  is 
surprising  what  little  items  give  accent  to  these  complexes  of 
sensibility.  When  worried  by  any  slight  trouble,  one  may  find 
that  the  focus  of  one's  bodily  consciousness  is  the  contraction 
often  quite  inconsiderable,  of  the  eyes  and  brows.  When  mo- 
mentarily embarrassed,  it  is  something  in  the  pharynx  that 
compels  either  a  swallow,  a  clearing  of  the  throat,  or  a  slight 
cough;  and  so  on  for  as  many  more  instances  as  might  be 
named.  The  various  permutations  of  which  these  organic 
changes  are  susceptible  make  it  abstractly  possible  that  no 
shade  of  emotion  should  be  without  a  bodily  reverberation  as 
unique,  when  taken  in  its  totality,  as  is  the  mental  mood  itself. 
The  immense  number  of  parts  modified  is  what  makes  it  so  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  reproduce  in  cold  blood  the  total  and  integral 
expression  of  any  one  emotion.  We  may  catch  the  trick  with 
the  voluntary  muscles,  but  fail  with  the  skin,  glands,  heart,  and 
other  viscera.  Just  as  an  artificially  imitated  sneeze  lacks  some- 
thing of  the  reality,  so  the  attempt  to  imitate  grief  or  enthusi- 


PSYCHOLOGY  66i 

asm  in  the  absence  of  its  normal  instigating  cause  is  apt  to  be 
rather  '  hollow.' 

I  now  proceed  to  urge  the  vital  point  of  my  whole  theory, 
which  is  this:  //  we  fancy  some  strong  emotion,  and  then  try  to 
abstract  from  our  consciousness  of  it  all  the  feelings  of  its  bodily 
symptoms,  we  find  we  have  nothing  left  behind,  no  '  mind-stuff  ' 
out  of  which  the  emotion  can  be  constituted,  and  that  a  cold  and 
neutral  state  of  intellectual  perception  is  all  that  remains.  It  is 
true  that,  although  most  people,  when  asked,  say  that  their 
introspection  verifies  this  statement,  some  persist  in  saying 
theirs  does  not.  Many  cannot  be  made  to  understand  the  ques- 
tion.   When  you  beg  them  to  imagine  away  every  feeling  of 
laughter  and  of  tendency  to  laugh  from  their  consciousness  of 
the  ludicrousness  of  an  object,  and  then  to  tell  you  what  the 
feeling  of  its  ludicrousness  would  be  like,  whether  it  be  any- 
thing more  than  the  perception  that  the  object  belongs  to  the 
class  '  funny,'  they  persist  in  replying  that  the  thing  proposed 
is  a  physical  impossibility,  and  that  they  always  must  laugh  if 
they  see  a  funny  object.  Of  course  the  task  proposed  is  not  the 
practical  one  of  seeing  a  ludicrous  object  and  annihilating  one's 
tendency  to  laugh.  It  is  the  purely  speculative  one  of  subtract- 
ing certain  elements  of  feeling  from  an  emotional  state  sup- 
posed to  exist  in  its  fulness,  and  saying  what  the  residual  ele- 
ments are.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  all  who  rightly  appre- 
hend this  problem  will  agree  with  the  proposition  above  laid 
down.   What  kind  of  an  emotion  of  fear  would  be  left  if  the 
feeling  neither  of  quickened  heart-beats  nor  of  shallow  breath- 
ing, neither  of  trembling  lips  nor  of  weakened  limbs,  neither  of 
goose-flesh  nor  of  visceral  stirrings,  were  present,  it  is  quite 
impossible  for  me  to  think.    Can  one  fancy  the  state  of  rage 
and  picture  no  ebullition  in  the  chest,  no  flushing  of  the  face,  no 
dilatation  of  the  nostrils,  no  clenching  of  the  teeth,  no  impulse 
to  vigorous  action,  but  in  their  stead  limp  muscles,  calm 
breathing,  and  a  placid  face?  The  present  writer,  for  one,  cer- 
tainly cannot.  The  rage  is  as  completely  evaporated  as  the  sens- 
ation of  its  so-called  manifestations,  and  the  only  thing  that 
can  possibly  be  supposed  to  take  its  place  is  some  cold-blooded 


662  WILLIAM  JAMES 

and  dispassionate  judicial  sentence,  confined  entirely  to  the 
intellectual  realm,  to  the  effect  that  a  certain  person  or  persons 
merit  chastisement  for  their  sins.  In  like  manner  of  grief:  what 
would  it  be  without  its  tears,  its  sobs,  its  suffocation  of  the 
heart,  its  pang  in  thel^reast-bone?  A  feelingless  cognition  that 
certain  circumstances  are  deplorable,  and  nothing  more. 
Every  passion  in  turn  tells  the  same  story.  A  disembodied 
human  emotion  is  a  sheer  nonentity.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  a 
contradiction  in  the  nature  of  things,  or  that  pure  spirits  are 
necessarily  condemned  to  cold  intellectual  lives;  but  I  say  that 
for  us  emotion  dissociated  from  all  bodily  feeling  is  inconceiv- 
able. The  more  closely  I  scrutinize  my  states,  the  more  per- 
suaded I  become  that  whatever '  coarse'  affections  and  passions 
I  have  are  in  very  truth  constituted  by,  and  made  up  of,  those 
bodily  changes  which  we  ordinarily  call  their  expression  or  con- 
sequence; and  the  more  it  seems  to  me  that,  if  I  were  to  become 
corporeally  anaesthetic,  I  should  be  excluded  from  the  life  of 
the  affections,  harsh  and  tender  alike,  and  drag  out  an  existence 
of  merely  cognitive  or  intellectual  form.  Such  an  existence, 
although  it  seems  to  have  been  the  ideal  of  ancient  sages,  is  too 
apathetic  to  be  keenly  sought  after  by  those  bom  after  the 
revival  of  the  worship  of  sensibility,  a  few  generations  ago. 

Let  not  this  view  be  called  materialistic.  —  It  is  neither  more 
nor  less  materialistic  than  any  other  view  which  says  that  our 
emotions  are  conditioned  by  nervous  processes.  No  reader  of 
this  book  is  likely  to  rebel  against  such  a  saying  so  long  as  it  is 
expressed  in  general  terms;  and  if  any  one  still  finds  material- 
ism in  the  thesis  now  defended,  that  must  be  because  of  the 
special  processes  invoked.  They  are  sensational  processes,  pro- 
cesses due  to  inward  currents  set  up  by  physical  happenings. 
Such  processes  have,  it  is  true,  always  been  regarded  by  the 
platonizers  in  psychology  as  having  something  peculiarly  base 
about  them.  But  our  emotions  must  always  be  inwardly  what 
they  are,  whatever  be  the  physiological  ground  of  their  appari- 
tion. If  they  are  deep,  pure,  worthy,  spiritual  facts  on  any 
conceivable  theory  of  their  physiological  source,  they  remain 
no  less  deep,  pure,  spiritual,  and  worthy  of  regard  on  this 


PSYCHOLOGY  663 

present  sensational  theory.  They  carry  their  own  inner  meas- 
ure of  worth  with  them;  and  it  is  just  as  logical  to  use  the 
present  theory  of  the  emotions  for  proving  that  sensational 
processes  need  not  be  vile  and  material,  as  to  use  their  vileness 
and  materiality  as  a  proof  that  such  a  theory  cannot  be  true. 

This  view  explains  the  great  variability  of  emotion.  —  If  such 
a  theory  is  true,  then  each  emotion  is  the  resultant  of  a  sum  of 
elements,  and  each  element  is  caused  by  a  physiological  pro- 
cess of  a  sort  already  well  known.  The  elements  are  all  organic 
changes,  and  each  of  them  is  the  reflex  effect  of  the  exciting 
object.  Definite  questions  now  immediately  arise  —  questions 
very  different  from  those  which  were  the  only  possible  ones 
without  this  view.  Those  questions  were  of  classification: 
"  Which  are  the  proper  genera  of  emotion,  and  which  the  spe- 
cies under  each?  "  —  or  of  description:  "  By  what  expression 
is  each  emotion  characterized?  "  The  questions  now  are  causal : 
"Just  what  changes  does  this  object  and  what  changes  does  that 
object  excite?  "  and  "  How  come  they  to  excite  these  particular 
changes  and  not  others?  "  We  step  from  a  superficial  to  a  deep 
order  of  inquiry.  Classification  and  description  are  the  lowest 
stage  of  science.  They  sink  into  the  background  the  moment 
questions  of  causation  are  formulated,  and  remain  important 
only  so  far  as  they  facilitate  our  answering  these.  Now  the 
moment  an  emotion  is  causally  accounted  for,  as  the  arousal 
by  an  object  of  a  lot  of  reflex  acts  which  are  forthwith  felt,  we 
immediately  see  why  there  is  no  limit  to  the  number  of  possible  dif- 
ferent emotions  which  may  exist,  and  why  the  emotions  of  different 
individuals  may  vary  indefinitely,  both  as  to  their  constitution 
and  as  to  the  objects  which  call  them  forth.  For  there  is  nothing 
sacramental  or  eternally  fixed  in  reflex  action.  Any  sort  of  reflex 
effect  is  possible,  and  reflexes  actually  vary  indefinitely,  as  we 
know. 

In  short,  any  classification  of  the  emotions  is  seen  to  he  as  true 
and  as  '  natural '  as  any  other,  if  it  only  serves  some  purpose; 
and  such  a  question  as  ''  What  is  the  '  real '  or  '  t^-pical '  ex- 
pression of  anger,  or  fear?  "  is  seen  to  have  no  objective  mean- 
ing at  all.  Instead  of  it  we  now  have  the  question  as  to  how 


664  WILLIAM  JAMES 

any  given  '  expression '  of  anger  or  fear  may  have  come  to 
exist;  and  that  is  a- real  question  of  physiological  mechanics  on 
the  one  hand,  and  of  history  on  the  other,  which  (like  all  real 
questions)  is  in  essence  answerable,  although  the  answer  may 
be  hard  to  find.  On  a  later  page  I  shall  mention  the  attempts  to 
answer  it  which  have  been  made. 

A  Corollary  verified.  —  If  our  theory  be  true,  a  necessary 
corollary  of  it  ought  to  be  this:  that  any  voluntary  and  cold- 
blooded arousal  of  the  so-called  manifestations  of  a  special 
emotion  should  give  us  the  emotion  itself.  Now  within  the  lim- 
its in  which  it  can  be  verified,  experience  corroborates  rather 
than  disproves  this  inference.  Everyone  knows  how  panic  is 
increased  by  flight,  and  how  the  giving  way  to  the  symptoms  of 
grief  or  anger  increases  those  passions  themselves.  Each  fit  of 
sobbing  makes  the  sorrow  more  acute,  and  calls  forth  another 
fit  stronger  still,  until  at  last  repose  only  ensues  with  lassitude 
and  with  the  apparent  exhaustion  of  the  machinery.  In  rage, 
it  is  notorious  how  we  '  work  ourselves  up '  to  a  climax  by 
repeated  outbreaks  of  expression.  Refuse  to  express  a  passion, 
and  it  dies.  Count  ten  before  venting  your  anger,  and  its  occa- 
sion seems  ridiculous.  Whistling  to  keep  up  courage  is  no  mere 
figure  of  speech.  On  the  other  hand,  sit  all  day  in  a  moping 
posture,  sigh,  and  reply  to  everything  with  a  dismal  Voice,  and 
your  melancholy  lingers.  There  is  no  more  valuable  precept  in 
moral  education  than  this,  as  all  who  have  experience  know 
if  we  wish  to  conquer  undesirable  emotional  tendencies  in  our- 
selves, we  must  assiduously,  and  in  the  first  instance  cold- 
bloodedly, go  through  the  outward  movements  of  those  contrary 
dispositions  which  we  prefer  to  cultivate.  The  reward  of  per- 
sistency will  infallibly  come,  in  the  fading  out  of  the  suUenness 
or  depression,  and  the  advent  of  real  cheerfulness  and  kindli- 
ness in  their  stead.  Smooth  the  brow,  brighten  the  eye,  con- 
tract the  dorsal  rather  than  the  ventral  aspect  of  the  frame,  and 
speak  in  a  major  key,  pass  the  genial  compliment,  and  your 
heart  must  be  frigid  indeed  if  it  do  not  gradually  thaw  I 

Against  this  it  is  to  be  said  that  many  actors  who  perfectly 
mimic  the  outward  appearances  of  emotion  in  face,  gait,  and 


PSYCHOLOGY  665 

voice  declare  that  they  feel  no  emotion  at  all.  Others,  however, 
according  to  Mr.  Wm.  Archer,  who  has  made  a  very  instructive 
statistical  inquiry  among  them,  say  that  the  emotion  of  the 
part  masters  them  whenever  they  play  it  well.  The  explanation 
for  the  discrepancy  amongst  actors  is  probably  simple.  The 
visceral  and  organic  part  of  the  expression  can  be  suppressed  in 
some  men,  but  not  in  others,  and  on  this  it  must  be  that  the 
chief  part  of  the  felt  emotion  depends.  Those  actors  who  feel 
the  emotion  are  probably  unable,  those  who  are  inwardly  cold 
are  probably  able,  to  affect  the  dissociation  in  a  complete  way. 

An  Objection  replied  to.  —  It  may  be  objected  to  the  general 
theory  which  I  maintain  that  stopping  the  expression  of  an 
emotion  often  makes  it  worse.  The  funniness  becomes  quite 
excruciating  when  we  are  forbidden  by  the  situation  to  laugh, 
and  anger  pent  in  by  fear  turns  into  tenfold  hate.  Expressing 
either  emotion  freely,  however,  gives  relief. 

This  objection  is  more  specious  than  real.  During  the  expres- 
sion the  emotion  is  always  felt.  After  it,  the  centres  having 
normally  discharged  themselves,  we  feel  it  no  more.  But  where 
the  facial  part  of  the  discharge  is  suppressed  the  thoracic  and 
visceral  may  be  all  the  more  violent  and  persistent,  as  in  sup)- 
pressed  laughter;  or  the  original  emotion  may  be  changed,  by 
the  combination  of  the  provoking  object  with  the  restraining 
pressure,  into  another  emotion  altogether,  in  which  different  and 
possibly  profounder  organic  disturbance  occurs.  If  I  would  kill 
my  enemy  but  dare  not,  my  emotion  is  surely  altogether  other 
than  that  which  would  possess  me  if  I  let  my  anger  explode.  — 
On  the  whole,  therefore,  this  objection  has  no  weight. 

The  Subtler  Emotions.  —  In  the  aesthetic  emotions  the 
bodily  reverberation  and  the  feeling  may  both  be  faint.  A  con- 
noisseur is  apt  to  judge  a  work  of  art  dryly  and  intellectually, 
and  with  no  bodily  thrill.  On  the  other  hand,  works  of  art  may 
arouse  intense  emotion;  and  whenever  they  do  so,  the  experi- 
ence is  completely  covered  by  the  terms  of  our  theory.  Our 
theory  requires  that  incoming  currents  be  the  basis  of  emotion. 
But,  whether  secondary  organic  reverberations  be  or  be  not 
aroused  by  it,  the  perception  of  a  work  of  art  (music,  decoration, 


666  WILLIAM  JAMES 

etc.)  is  always  in  the  first  instance  at  any  rate  an  afifair  of  in- 
coming currents.  The  work  is  an  object  of  sensation;  and,  the 
perception  of  an  object  of  sensation  being  a  *  coarse  '  or  vivid 
experience,  what  pleasure  goes  with  it  will  partake  of  the 
'  coarse  '  or  vivid  form. 

That  there  may  be  subtle  pleasure  too,  I  do  not  deny.  In 
other  words,  there  may  be  purely  cerebral  emotion,  independ- 
ent of  all  currents  from  outside.  Such  feelings  as  moral  satisfac- 
tion, thankfulness,  curiosity,  relief  at  getting  a  problem  solved, 
may  be  of  this  sort.  But  the  thinness  and  paleness  of  these  feel- 
ings, when  unmixed  with  bodily  effects,  is  in  very  striking  con- 
trast to  the  coarser  emotions.  In  all  sentimental  and  impression- 
able people  the  bodily  effects  mix  in :  the  voice  breaks  and  the 
eyes  moisten  when  the  moral  truth  is  felt,  etc.  Wherever  there 
is  anything  like  rapture,  however  intellectual  its  ground,  we  find 
these  secondary  processes  ensue.  Unless  we  actually  laugh  at 
the  neatness  of  the  demonstration  or  witticism ;  unless  we  thrill 
at  the  case  of  justice,  or  tingle  at  the  act  of  magnanimity,  our 
state  of  mind  can  hardly  be  called  emotional  at  all.  It  is  in  fact 
a  mere  intellectual  perception  of  how  certain  things  are  to  be 
called  —  neat,  right,  witty,  generous,  and  the  like.  Such  a 
judicial  state  of  mind  as  this  is  to  be  classed  among  cognitive 
rather  than  among  emotional  acts. 

Description  of  Fear.  —  For  the  reasons  given  on  p.  656, 1  will 
append  no  inventory  or  classification  of  emotions  or  description 
of  their  symptoms.  The  reader  has  practically  almost  all  the 
facts  in  his  own  hand.  As  an  example,  however,  of  the  best 
sort  of  descriptive  work  on  the  symptoms,  I  will  quote  Darwin's 
account  of  them  in  fear. 

"  Fear  is  often  preceded  by  astonishment,  and  is  so  far  akin 
to  it  that  both  lead  to  the  senses  of  sight  and  hearing  being 
instantly  aroused.  In  both  cases  the  eyes  and  mouth  are  widely 
opened  and  the  eyebrows  raised.  The  frightened  man  at  first 
stands  Uke  a  statue,  motionless  and  breathless,  or  crouches 
down  as  if  instinctively  to  escape  observation.  The  heart  beats 
quickly  and  violently,  so  that  it  palpitates  or  knocks  against 
the  ribs;  but  it  is  very  doubtful  if  it  then  works  more  efficiently 


PSYCHOLOGY  e^-j 

than  usual,  so  as  to  send  a  greater  supply  of  blood  to  all  parts  of 
the  body ;  for  the  skin  instantly  becomes  pale  as  during  incipi- 
ent faintness.  This  paleness  of  the  surface,  however,  is  pro- 
bably in  large  part,  or  is  exclusively,  due  to  the  vaso-motor 
centre  being  affected  in  such  manner  as  to  cause  the  contrac- 
tion of  the  small  arteries  of  the  skin.  That  the  skin  is  much 
affected  under  the  sense  of  great  fear,  we  see  in  the  marvellous 
manner  in  which  perspiration  immediately  exudes  from  it. 
This  exudation  is  all  the  more  remarkable,  as  the  surface  is 
then  cold,  and  hence  the  term,  a  cold  sweat;  whereas  the 
sudorific  glands  are  properly  excited  into  action  when  the  sur- 
face is  heated.  The  hairs  also  on  the  skin  stand  erect,  and  the 
superficial  muscles  shiver.  In  connection  with  the  disturbed 
action  of  the  heart  the  breathing  is  hurried.  The  salivary 
glands  act  imperfectly;  the  mouth  becomes  dry  and  is  often 
opened  and  shut.  I  have  also  noticed  that  under  slight  fear 
there  is  strong  tendency  to  yawn.  One  of  the  best  marked  symp- 
toms is  the  trembling  of  all  the  muscles  of  the  body;  and  this  is 
often  first  seen  in  the  lips.  From  this  cause,  and  from  the  dry- 
ness of  the  mouth,  the  voice  becomes  husky  or  indistinct  or 
may  altogether  fail.  '  Obstupui  steteruntque  conuB,  et  vox  fauci- 
bus  hcBsit.*  ...  As  fear  increases  into  an  agony  of  terror,  we 
behold,  as  under  all  violent  emotions,  diversified  results.  The 
heart  beats  wildly  or  must  fail  to  act  and  faintness  ensue;  there 
is  a  death-like  pallor;  the  breathing  is  labored;  the  wings  of  the 
nostrils  are  widely  dilated;  there  is  a  gasping  and  convulsive 
motion  of  the  lips,  a  tremor  on  the  hollow  cheek,  a  gulping  and 
catching  of  the  throat;  the  uncovered  and  protruding  eyeballs 
are  fixed  on  the  object  of  terror;  or  they  may  roll  restlessly  from 
side  to  side,  hue  illuc  volens  oculos  totumque  pererrat.  The  pupils 
are  said  to  be  enormously  dilated.  All  the  muscles  of  the  body 
may  become  rigid  or  may  be  thrown  into  convulsive  move- 
ments. The  hands  are  alternately  clenched  and  opened,  often 
with  a  twitching  movement.  The  arms  may  be  protruded  as  if 
to  avert  some  dreadful  danger,  or  may  be  thrown  wildly  over 
the  head.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hagenauer  has  seen  this  latter  action 
in  a  terrified  Australian.  In  other  cases  there  is  a  sudden  and 


668  WILLIAM  JAMES 

uncontrollable  tendency  to  headlong  flight ;  and  so  strong  is  this 
that  the  boldest  soldiers  may  be  seized  with  a  sudden  panic."  * 

Genesis  of  the  Emotional  Reactions.  —  How  come  the  vari- 
ous objects  which  excite  emotion  to  produce  such  special  and 
different  bodily  effects?  This  question  was  not  asked  till  quite 
recently,  but  already  some  interesting  suggestions  towards 
answering  it  have  been  made. 

Some  movements  of  expression  can  be  accounted  for  as 
weakened  repetitions  of  movements  which  formerly  (when  they 
were  stronger)  wers  of  utility  to  the  subject.  Others  are  similarly 
weakened  repvetitions  of  movements  which  under  other  condi- 
tions were  physiologically  necessary  concomitants  of  the  useful 
movements.  Of  the  latter  reactions  the  respiratory  disturbances 
in  anger  and  fear  might  be  taken  as  examples  —  organic  reminis- 
cences, as  it  were,  reverberations  in  imagination  of  the  blowings 
of  the  man  making  a  series  of  combative  efforts,  of  the  pantings 
of  one  in  precipitate  flight.  Such  at  least  is  a  suggestion  made  by 
Mr.  Spencer  which  has  found  approval.  And  he  also  was  the 
first,  so  far  as  I  know,  to  suggest  that  other  movements  in 
anger  and  fear  could  be  explained  by  the  nascent  excitation  of 
formerly  useful  acts. 

"  To  have  in  a  slight  degree,"  he  says,  "  such  psychical  states 
as  accompany  the  reception  of  wounds,  and  are  experienced 
during  flight,  is  to  be  in  a  state  of  what  we  call  fear.  And  to 
have  in  a  slight  degree  such  psychical  states  as  the  processes 
of  catching,  killing,  and  eating  imply,  is  to  have  the  desires  to 
catch,  kill,  and  eat.  That  the  propensities  to  the  acts  are  no- 
thing else  than  nascent  excitations  of  the  psychical  state  in- 
volved in  the  acts,  is  proved  by  the  natural  language  of  the 
propensities.  Fear,  when  strong,  expresses  itself  in  cries,  in 
efforts  to  escape,  in  palpitations,  in  tremblings;  and  these  are 
just  the  manifestations  that  go  along  with  an  actual  suffering 
of  the  evil  feared.  The  destructive  passion  is  shown  in  a  gen- 
eral tension  of  the  muscular  system,  in  gnashing  of  teeth  and 
protrusion  of  the  claws,  in  dilated  eyes  and  nostrils  in  growls; 
and  these  are  weaker  forms  of  the  actions  that  accomp^any  the 

*  Origin  of  the  Emotions  (N.  Y.  ed.),  p.  292. 


PSYCHOLOGY  669 

killing  of  prey.  To  such  objective  evidences  every  one  can  add 
subjective  evidences.  Every  one  can  testify  that  the  psychical 
state  called  fear  consists  of  mental  representations  of  certain 
painful  results;  and  that  the  one  called  anger  consists  of  mental 
representations  of  the  actions  and  impressions  which  would 
occur  while  inflicting  some  kind  of  pain." 

The  principle  of  revival,  in  weakened  form,  of  reactions  useful 
in  more  violent  dealings  with  the  object  inspiring  the  emotion,  has 
found  many  applications.  So  slight  a  symptom  as  the  snarl  or 
sneer,  the  one-sided  uncovering  of  the  upper  teeth,  is  ac- 
counted for  by  Darwin  as  a  survival  from  the  time  when  our 
ancestors  had  large  canines,  and  unfleshed  them  (as  dogs  now 
do)  for  attack.  Similarly  the  raising  of  the  eyebrows  in  outward 
attention,  the  opening  of  the  mouth  in  astonishment,  come, 
according  to  the  same  author,  from  the  utility  of  these  move- 
ments in  extreme  cases.  The  raising  of  the  eyebrows  goes  with 
the  opening  of  the  eye  for  better  vision;  the  opening  of  the 
mouth  with  the  intensest  listening,  and  with  the  rapid  catching 
of  the  breath  which  precedes  muscular  effort.  The  distention 
of  the  nostrils  in  anger  is  interpreted  by  Spencer  as  an  echo  of 
the  way  in  which  our  ancestors  had  to  breathe  when,  during 
combat,  their  "  mouth  was  filled  up  by  a  part  of  an  antagonist's 
body  that  had  been  seized  "  (!).  The  trembling  of  fear  is  sup- 
posed by  Mantegazza  to  be  for  the  sake  of  warming  the  blood  (!) 
The  reddening  of  the  face  and  neck  is  called  by  Wundt  a  com- 
pensatory arrangement  for  relieving  the  brain  of  the  blood- 
pressure  which  the  simultaneous  excitement  of  the  heart  brings 
with  it.  The  effusion  of  tears  is  explained  both  by  this  author 
and  by  Darwin  to  be  a  blood-withdrawing  agency  of  a  similar 
sort.  The  contraction  of  the  muscles  around  the  eyes,  of  which 
the  primitive  use  is  to  protect  those  organs  from  being  too  much 
gorged  with  blood  during  the  screaming  fits  of  infancy,  sur\ives 
in  adult  life  in  the  shape  of  the  frown,  which  instantly  comes 
over  the  brow  when  anything  difficult  or  displeasing  presents 
itself  either  to  thought  or  action. 

"  As  the  habit  of  contracting  the  brows  has  been  followed 
by  infants  during  innumerable  generations,  at  the  commence- 


670  WILLIAM  JAMES 

ment  of  every  crying  or  screaming  j&t,"  says  Darwin,  **  it  has 
become  firmly  associated  with  the  incipient  sense  of  some- 
thing distressing  or  disagreeable.  Hence,  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances, it  would  be  apt  to  be  continued  during  maturity, 
although  never  then  developed,  into  a  crying  fit.  Screaming 
or  weeping  begins  to  be  voluntarily  restrained  at  an  early 
period  of  life,  whereas  frowning  is  hardly  ever  restrained  at  any 
age." 

Another  principle,  to  which  Darwin  perhaps  hardly  does 
sufficient  justice,  may  be  called  the  principle  of  reacting 
similarly  to  analogous--feeling  stimuli.  There  is  a  whole  voca- 
bulary of  descriptive  adjectives  common  to  impressions  belong- 
ing to  different  sensible  spheres  —  experiences  of  all  classes  are 
sweet,  impressions  of  all  classes  rich  or  solid,  sensations  of  all 
classes  sharp.  Wundt  and  Piderit  accordingly  explain  many  of 
our  most  expressive  reactions  upon  moral  causes  as  symbolic 
gustatory  movements.  As  soon  as  any  experience  arises  which 
has  an  affinity  with  the  feeling  of  sweet,  or  bitter,  or  sour,  the 
same  movements  are  executed  which  would  result  from  the 
taste  in  point.  "  All  the  states  of  mind  which  language  desig- 
nates by  the  metaphors  bitter,  harsh,  sweet,  combine  them- 
selves, therefore,  with  the  corresponding  mimetic  movements 
of  the  mouth."  Certainly  the  emotions  of  disgust  and  satisfac- 
tion do  express  themselves  in  this  mimetic  way.  Disgust  is  an 
incipent  regurgitation  or  retching,  limiting  its  expression  often 
to  the  grimace  of  the  lips  and  nose ;  satisfaction  goes  with  a  suck- 
ing smile,  or  tasting  motion  of  the  lips.  The  ordinary  gesture  of 
negation  —  among  us,  moving  the  head  about  its  axis  from  side 
to  side  —  is  a  reaction  originally  used  by  babies  to  keep  disa- 
greeables from  getting  into  their  mouth,  and  may  be  observed 
in  perfection  in  any  nursery.  It  is  now  evoked  where  the  stimu- 
lus is  only  an  unwelcome  idea.  Similarly  the  nod  forward  in 
afifirmation  is  after  the  analogy  of  taking  food  into  the  mouth. 
The  connection  of  the  expression  of  moral  or  social  disdain  or 
dislike,  especially  in  women,  with  movements  having  a  per- 
fectly definite  original  olfactory  function,  is  too  obvious  for 


PSYCHOLOGY  671 

comment.  Winking  is  the  effect  of  any  threatening  surprise,  not 
only  of  what  puts  the  eyes  in  danger;  and  a  momentary  aver- 
sion of  the  eyes  is  very  apt  to  be  one's  first  symptom  of  response 
to  an  unexpectedly  unwelcome  proposition.  —  These  may  suf- 
fice as  examples  of  movements  expressive  from  analogy. 

But  if  certain  of  our  emotional  reactions  can  be  explained 
by  the  two  principles  invoked  —  and  the  reader  will  himself 
have  felt  how  conjectural  and  fallible  in  some  of  the  instances 
the  explanation  is  —  there  remain  many  reactions  which  can- 
not so  be  explained  at  all,  and  these  we  must  write  down  for  the 
present  as  purely  idiopathic  effects  of  the  stimulus.  Amongst 
them  are  the  effects  on  the  viscera  and  internal  glands,  the  dry- 
ness of  the  mouth  and  diarrhoea  and  nausea  of  fear,  the  liver- 
disturbances  which  sometimes  produce  jaundice  after  excessive 
rage,  the  urinary  secretion  of  sanguine  excitement,  and  the 
bladder-contraction  of  apprehension,  the  gaping  of  expectancy, 
the  '  lump  in  the  throat '  of  grief,  the  tickling  there  and  the 
swallowing  of  embarrassment,  the  '  precordial  anxiety '  of 
dread,  the  changes  in  the  pupil,  the  various  sweatings  of  the 
skin,  cold  or  hot,  local  or  general,  and  its  flushings,  together 
with  other  symptoms  which  probably  exist  but  are  too  hidden 
to  have  been  noticed  or  named.  Trembling,  which  is  found  in 
many  excitements  besides  that  of  terror,  is,  pace  Mr.  Spencer 
and  Sig.  Mantegazza,  quite  pathological.  So  are  terror's  other 
strong  symptoms:  they  are  harmful  to  the  creature  who  pre- 
sents them.  In  an  organism  as  complex  as  the  nervous  system 
there  must  be  many  incidental  reactions  which  would  never 
themselves  have  been  evolved  independently,  for  any  utility 
they  might  possess.  Sea-sickness,  ticklishness,  shyness,  the  love 
of  music,  of  the  various  intoxicants,  nay,  the  entire  assthetic 
life  of  man,  must  be  traced  to  this  accidental  origin.  It  would 
be  foolish  to  suppose  that  none  of  the  reactions  called  emo- 
tional could  have  arisen  in  this  gwasj-accidental  way. 


CARL  GEORG  LANGE 

( 1 834-1 900) 

THE  EMOTIONS 

Translated  from  the  German  *  of  H.  Kurella  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

THE  MECHANISM  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

We  approach  now  the  question  which  possesses  a  vital  in- 
terest from  the  psycho-physiological  standpoint,  and  for  that 
reason  forms  the  centre  of  this  investigation.  The  question 
concerns  the  nature  of  the  relation  between  the  emotions  and 
their  accompanying  bodily  expressions. 

Heretofore  I  have  constantly  used  phrases,  though  under 
protest,  such  as  "  the  physiological  phenomena  occasioned  by 
the  emotions, "  or  **  the  physiological  phenomena  which  accom- 
pany emotion,"  etc.  I  have  employed  provisionally  these  cus- 
tomary expressions  for  the  relation  in  question  in  order  to  be 
understood.  Strangely  enough  up  to  the  present  time  this 
relation  never  has  been  in  any  way  accurately,  defined.  I  know 
of  no  attempt  to  determine  its  exact  nature.  The  matter  is  very 
simple  in  the  popular  conception.  Here  emotions  are  entities, 
substances,  forces,  daemons,  which  seize  man  and  produce  in 
him  bodily  as  well  as  mental  manifestations:  "grief  seized 
me,"  "  a  joy  came  tome,"  "  anger  controlled  me,"  "  fear  over- 
whelmed me,"  etc. 

As  often  happens  in  popular  and  sometimes  even  in  scientific 
psychology,  this  conception  has  rather  a  metaphorical  than  an 
explicative  value.  Modern  psychology  would  scarcely  adopt  it, 

*  C.  Lange  Om  Sindshevaegelser.  Kjobenhavn,  1885.  Translated  here 
from  C.  Lange's  Ueher  GemUihsbewegungen.  Eine  psycho-physiologische  Studie. 
Uebersetzt  von  H.  Kurella,  Leipzig,  1887. 


THE  EMOTIONS  673 

if  it  could  offer  in  its  place  any  more  comprehensible  or  exact 
explanation.  Most  modern  authors  in  the  domain  of  scientific 
psychology  do  not  enter^  at  all  into  this  question.  They  ap- 
pear almost  deliberately  to  pass  it  over  in  silence,  in  order  pro- 
bably from  the  lack  of  a  physiological  explanation  not  to  have 
recourse  to  the  mysterious  language  of  speculative  psychology. 
Indeed  one  can  say  that  scientific  psychology  also  shares  the 
theory,  that  the  emotions  induce  and  determine  the  accom- 
panying bodily  expressions.  But  as  to  what  emotions  strictly 
are,  that  they  can  have  such  power  over  the  body,  one  seeks, 
I  think,  in  vain  for  any  explanation  in  the  whole  of  modern 
psycholog>'. 

If  we  desire  a  clear  understanding  of  the  relation  here  dis- 
cussed, we  must,  as  it  appears  to  me,  formulate  the  problem 
approximately  in  the  following  way.  We  have  in  every  emo- 
tion as  certain  and  manifest  factors:  (i)  a  cause,  —  a  sense 
impression,  which  acts  as  a  rule  by  the  aid  of  memory,  or  of  an 
associated  idea;  —  and  thereafter  (2)  an  effect,  namely,  the 
previously  discussed  vasomotor  changes,  and  further,  issuing 
from  them,  the  changes  in  the  bodily  and  mental  functions. 

The  question  now  arises : 

What  lies  between  these  two  factors?  Is  there  anything  at 
all?  If  I  begin  to  tremble  because  I  am  threatened  with  a 
loaded  pistol,  does  first  a  psychical  process  occur  in  me,  does 
terror  arise,  and  is  that  what  causes  my  trembling,  palpita- 
tion of  the  heart,  and  confusion  of  thought;  or  are  these  bodily 
phenomena  produced  directly  by  the  terrifying  cause,  so  that 
the  emotion  consists  exclusively  of  the  functional  disturbances 
in  my  body? 

The  answer  to  this  question  is,  as  one  easily  perceives,  not 
merely  of  decisive  significance  for  the  psychology  of  the  emo- 
tions; but  also  of  the  greatest  practical  significance  for  any 
physician,  who  has  to  do  with  the  pathological  results  of  vio- 
lent emotions. 

The  current  opinion,  as  already  remarked,  amounts  to  the 

*  The  external  movement  springs  always  from  the  inner,  the  emotion.  VVundt's 
Ueber  denAusdruck  der  Gemiiihsbewegungen.  Deutsche  Rundschau,  April,  1877. 


674  CARL  GEORG  LANGE 

statement,  that  the  immediate  effect  of  a  process  followed  by 
an  emotion  is  of  a  purely  psychical  nature,  (therefore,  either 
the  creation  of  a  new  mental  force,  or  the  modification  of  a  pre- 
vious mental  state).  Furthermore,  it  affirms,  that  this  event  in 
the  soul  is  the  actual  emotion,  the  true  joy,  sorrow,  etc. ;  whereas 
the  bodily  phenomena  are  only  subsidiary  phenomena,  which 
indeed  are  never  lacking,  but  are  nevertheless  in  and  of  them- 
selves wholly  unessential. 

The  purely  psychical  emotion  is  an  hypothesis,  and  like  every 
hypothesis,  has  its  justification  only  if  it  fulfils  two  conditions: 
namely,  (i)  to  explain  the  phenomena  for  which  it  is  pro- 
pounded, and  (2)  that  it  be  necessary  for  the  explanation  of 
these  phenomena. 

Respecting  the  first  of  these  conditions,  the  hypothesis  in 
question  has  just  as  easy  a  task  as  all  the  metaphysical  hy- 
potheses in  general  have.  Without  being  restricted  by  objec- 
tions of  experience,  one  can  elaborate  them  at  pleasure,  attribut- 
ing to  them  any  quality  or  power,  and  without  further  difficulty 
they  perform  every  ser\ace  that  is  required  of  them.  But  can 
psychical  terror  explain  why  one  grows  pale,  or  why  one  trem- 
bles? Although  we  do  not  understand  the  explanation,  we  are 
still  free  to  assume  it,  and  we  are  accustomed  to  be  therewith 
content. 

If  the  hypothesis  of  the  psychical  nature  of  the  emotions  is 
accordingly  unassailable  at  this  point,  (indeed  more  because  it 
escapes,  than  because  it  stands  criticism,)  the  question  arises, 
whether  it  fulfils  the  second  condition?  Is  it  indispensable  for 
the  explanation  of  the  group  of  phenomena  which  we  call  emo- 
tions? Can  these  phenomena  be  understood  without  its  aid? 

Whoever  would  make  clear  to  some  one  who  has  grown  up 
with  the  common  idea  upon  this  subject,  that  if  he  is  frightened 
his  terror  is  only  a  perception  of  change  in  his  body,  would  prob- 
ably encounter  the  following  objection:  "Any  such  assump- 
tion of  this  relation  is  decisively  contradicted  by  personal  expe- 
rience, since  we  have  in  terror,  as  in  every  emotion,  a  perfectly 
distinct  sensation  of  a  peculiar  change,  or  of  a  definite,  psychical 
state,  wholly  independent  of  anything  bodily." 


THE  EMOTIONS  675 

I  can  readily  understand,  that  this  objection  has  very  great 
significance  for  the  majority,  and  is  difficult  to  overcome. 
Nevertheless  it  has  of  course  in  and  of  itself  not  the  least  value. 

We  have  in  fact  no  absolute  and  immediate  means  of  determin- 
ing whether  a  sensation  is  of  a  psychical  or  bodily  character. 
Furthermore,  no  one  is  able  to  indicate  the  difference  between 
psychical  and  somatic  feelings.  Whoever  speaks  of  a  psychical 
impression  does  so  indeed  solely  upon  the  basis  of  a  theory, 
and  not  upon  an  immediate  perception.  Without  doubt,  the 
mother  who  sorrows  over  her  dead  child  would  resist,  pro- 
bably even  become  indignant,  if  anyone  were  to  say  to  her, 
that  what  she  feels,  is  the  exhaustion  and  inertness  of  her 
muscles,  the  numbness  in  her  bloodless  skin,  the  lack  of  mental 
power  for  clear  and  rapid  thought  ^ —  all  of  which  is  made  clear 
by  the  idea  of  the  cause  of  these  phenomena.  There  is  no  reason, 
however,  for  her  to  be  indignant,  for  her  feeling  is  just  as  strong, 
as  deep  and  pure,  whether  it  springs  from  the  one,  or  the  other 
source.  But  it  cannot  exist  without  its  bodily  attributes. 

If  from  one  terrified  the  accompanying  bodily  symptoms  are 
removed,  the  pulse  permitted  to  beat  quietly,  the  glance  to 
become  firm,  the  color  natural,  the  movements  rapid  and 
secure,  the  speech  strong,  the  thoughts  clear,  —  what  is  there 
left  of  his  terror? 

•  If  we  cannot  rely,  therefore,  in  this  question  upon  the  testi- 
mony of  personal  experience,  because  it  is  here  incompetent, 
the  matter  is  thereby  naturally  not  yet  explained.  If  the 
hypothesis  of  psychical  emotions  be  not  made  necessary  by 
subjective  experience,  it  may  nevertheless  be  requisite  if  with- 
out it  one  cannot  perhaps  understand  how  the  bodily  man- 
ifestations of  the  emotions  come  into  existence. 

We  have  consequently  first  to  investigate,  whether  the  bodily 
manifestations  of  the  emotions  can  come  into  existence  in 

1  I  will  not  be  deterred  by  the  fact  that  it  will  probably  be  objected  that  one 
can  feel  pure  psychical  grief,  joy,  etc.  if  the  emotion  is  not  strong  enough  to 
lead  to  bodily  symptoms.  Such  a  supposition  naturally  rests  only  upon  insuffi- 
cient observation,  or  because  one  regards  purely  subjective  sensations  —  those 
of  lightness  or  pressure,  of  strength  or  weakness  —  as  psychical. 


e-jS  CARL  GEORG  LANGE 

purely  bodily  ways.  If  that  is  the  case,  the  necessity  of  the 
psychical  hypothesis  is  thereby  removed. 

In  fact,  it  is  not  difficult  to  show  from  every  day  experience, 
which  estabUshes  and  constantly  verifies  the  truth,  that  emo- 
tions can  be  produced  by  many  causes,  which  have  nothing  to 
do  with  movements  of  the  mind;  as  on  the  other  hand,  that  they 
can  equally  as  well  be  checked  and  subdued  by  purely  bodily 
means.  It  is  known,  though  without  clear  consciousness  of  the 
true  relation  of  things,  that  our  entire  mode  of  existence,  our 
daily  dietetics,  has  been  formed  during  the  course  of  genera- 
tions essentially  with  the  aim  to  promote  the  agreeable  emo- 
tions, and  to  lessen  or  entirely  to  remove  the  painful.  I  will 
merely  cite  a  single  example,  and  that  will  serve  to  recall  others. 
It  is  one  of  the  oldest  experiences  of  mankind  "that  wine  maketh 
glad  the  heart  of  man; "  and  the  power  of  spirituous  beverages 
to  combat  the  closely  related  states  of  grief  and  fear,  and  to 
replace  them  with  joy  and  courage,  has  found  an  application, 
which  is  in  and  for  itself  natural  enough,  and  would  be  uncondi- 
tionally beneficial  if  the  means  did  not  possess  in  addition  still 
other  effects. 

We  all  understand  why  Jeppe  *  drinks.  It  is  because  he  will 
escape  thereby  from  his  conjugal  troubles,  and  his  fear  of  the 
master  Erich.  He  will  sing  again,  and  recall  the  happy  time 
when  he  was  "in  the  militia."  The  glass  makes  him  jovial  and 
courageous,  without  the  addition  of  a  single  pleasing  or  enliv- 
ening impression  which  could  have  any  direct  effect  upon  his 
mind,  and  without  in  the  least  forgetting  his  troubles  or  his 
enemies.  All  he  wants  is  the  influence  of  wine  to  view  them  in 
a  manner  different  from  the  customary.  He  desires  to  impress 
his  importance  upon  the  sexton,  and  for  once  to  chastise  his  wife. 
The  alcohol  has  excited  his  vasomotor  apparatus,  has  caused 
his  heart  to  beat  more  rapidly  and  strongly,  has  enlarged  his 
capillary  ducts  and  thereby  heightened  his  voluntary  innerva- 
tions, and  as  a  consequence,  he  talks  loudly,  sings,  and  blusters, 
instead  of  lingering  about,  whimpering,  and  whining  on  the 
public  way.  He  has  the  feeling  of  warmth,  airiness,  and 
*  Jeppe  am  Barge,  a  character  in  the  classical  comedy  of  Holberg. 


THE  EMOTIONS  e^^ 

strength,  in  place  of  his  customary  limpness  and  incapacity. 
His  dull  brain  awakes  again  to  new  life  by  the  quick  circulation 
of  blood,  the  thoughts  come  in  a  rush,  old  memories  revive  and 
displace  the  wonted  feeling  of  his  daily  misery.  And  all  this 
is  due  merely  to  a  "peg"  of  spirits,  the  effect  of  which  upon  the 
circulation  we  can  understand,  and  which  has  no  need  of  the 
intervention  of  the  mind  to  act  upon  the  vasomotor  centre. 

All  those  who  drink  spirits  have  an  experience  of  a  similar 
nature  to  Jeppe's,  and  thus  we  have  it  in  general  among  the 
means  of  enjo)mient,  in  addition  to  the  many  arrangements 
that  we  make  to  procure  for  ourselves  comfort  and  well  being. 
So  long  as  we  remain  within  the  easy  and  customary  routine  of 
daily  life,  the  connection  between  our  emotional  states  and 
material  influences,  (e.g.,  nutrition),  naturally  comes  only  rarely 
into  the  foreground.  The  relation  is  otherwise  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  certain  substances,  which  act  upon  the  body  so  power- 
fully that  they  are  employed  like  drugs,  or  are  ranked  under 
the  category  of  poisons.  Thus  it  is  known  that  the  eating  of 
certain  fungi,  especially  the  fly  agaric,  can  produce  the  most 
violent  paroxysms  of  fury,  and  of  violence.  It  has  been  conjec- 
tured that  our  warlike  ancestors  used  such  means  to  create  the 
right  mood  for  martial  enterprises;  therefore  entirely  similar  to 
the  way,  in  which  one  to-day  drinks  spirits  to  "revive  cour- 
age." Fits  of  temper  also  often  follow  the  partaking  of  hashish 
(indian  hemp),  which,  ordinarily  however  like  alcohol  and 
opium,  evokes  a  vivacious  disposition,  even  outbursts  of 
unbounded  merriment. 

Certain  emetics,  as  ipecacuanha  and  tartar  emetic,  produce 
a  feeling  of  depression,  which  oftentimes  resembles  fear,  some- 
times also  grief,  and  like  these  emotions  is  accompanied  by 
symptoms  of  collapse. 

If  emotional  states  can  be  precipitated  by  the  enjoyment  of 
certain  substances,  or  in  other  purely  bodily  ways,  it  follows 
that  one  can  combat  and  abate  painful  emotions  in  the  same 
way.  If  spirits  or  opium  produce  joy,  they  are  an  antidote 
for  sorrow. 

The  power  of  cold  water  to  subdue  temper  and  outbreaks  of 


678  CARL  GEORG  LANGE 

passion  finds  occasionally  a  practical  use,  and  can,  when  aj)- 
plied  to  the  body,  scarcely  act  directly  upon  the  mind;  but  so 
much  the  more  does  it  act  upon  the  vasomotor  functions.  By 
the  agency  of  a  medicine,  the  well-known  bromide  of  potas- 
sium, which  causes  paralysis  of  the  vasomotor  apparatus,  we 
have  it  in  our  power  not  only  to  allay  fear  and  anxiety,  and 
similar  uncomfortable  emotions,  but  also,  if  we  wish,  to  cause  a 
perfectly  apathetic  condition,  in  which  the  individual  is  even 
as  little  able  to  become  festive  or  sad,  as  anxious  and  angry, 
simply  because  the  vasomotor  functions  are  suspended. 

If  the  theory  of  the  nature  of  the  emotions  here  advocated, 
is  well  founded,  we  may  in  a  general  way  expect  that  every 
action  connected  with  functional  changes  of  the  vasomotor 
system  must  also  have  an  emotional  expression.  Naturally  we 
should  not  expect  that  emotions  originated  in  this  way  would 
conform  in  every  way  with  the  phenomenon  for  which  we  com- 
monly reserve  this  designation ;  the  differences  in  the  causes  na- 
turally must  find  expression  in  this  domain  through  differences 
in  the  effects.  The  different  psychical  causes  have  also  in  reality 
effects  which  are  not  at  all  congruous.  The  fear  of  ghosts  is  not 
imagined  in  the  same  form  as  fear  of  the  bullets  of  an  enemy. 
Nevertheless,  the  similarity  in  many  cases  between  the  bodily 
and  the  psychically  conditioned  emotions  has  been  sufficiently 
striking  to  force  itself  upon  immediate  apprehension,  as  the 
many  linguistic  designations  clearly  prove.  Thus  in  all  languages 
there  is  one  and  the  same  expression  for  mental  and  bodily 
pain.  We  have  recognized  their  great  physiological  similarity, 
although  the  marked  phenomenon  of  bodily  pain,  namely  the 
subjective  sensation  in  consequence  of  the  transmission  of  the 
peripheral  stimulus  to  the  sensorium,  is  lacking  in  the  case  of 
mental  pain.  The  cause  of  similarity  of  the  physical  to  the 
emotional  pain  is  the  reflex  innervation  of  the  vascular  nerves,  a 
normal  effect  of  every  rather  strong  stimulation  of  the  sensitive 
nerves. 

The  term  shudder,  in  this  way,  is  the  common  designation  in 
speech  for  the  phenomena  arising  from  the  sudden  effects  of 
cold  upon  the  skin,  and  also  from  terrifying  impressions.  That 


THE  EMOTIONS  679 

the  naive  intelligence  recognizes  no  distinction  between  the 
shuddering  due  to  emotional,  and  that  due  to  purely  bodily 
causes,  we  perceive  in  the  fairy  tale  of  the  youth,  who  went 
forth  in  order  to  find  out  what  shuddering  was,  and  who  after 
seeking  in  vain  to  discover  it  in  the  company  of  the  dead  and  of 
ghosts,  had  his  wish  fulfilled  when  he  was  thrown  from  his  bed 
into  a  tub  of  ice  cold  water,  which  produced  a  more  painful 
effect  upon  his  vasomotor  apparatus  than  the  sight  of  corpses, 
and  of  ghosts. 

The  designation  feverish  for  the  man  who  is  very  impatient, 
likewise  shows,  that  we  have  been  impressed  by  the  similarity 
which  exists  between  the  light  symptoms  of  fever  with  their 
vasomotor  disturbances,  and  those  bodily  conditions  which 
are  produced  by  disquieting  expectations. 

As  already  remarked,  I  shall  not  enter  in  this  small  treatise 
more  minutely  into  the  large  question  concerning  the  relation 
of  the  emotions  with  the  corresponding  pathological  states,  or 
with  mental  and  bodily  diseases. 

But  there  exists  in  this  connection  a  relation  which  I  cannot 
pass  entirely  by,  because  it  throws  much  light  upon  the  question 
with  which  we  are  here  occupied,  that  is,  the  necessity  of  the 
hypothesis  of  purely  psychical  emotions.  If  there  is  anything 
that  in  a  striking  way  can  prove  the  superfluous  nature  of  this 
hypothesis,  it  is  certainly  the  circumstance  that  the  emotions 
arise  without  being  evoked  by  any  external  impression,  or  by 
any  occurrence  which  acts  upon  our  mental  life,  or  by  any  mem- 
ory or  association  of  ideas ;  and  that  they  originate  in  optima 
forma  solely  upon  the  basis  of  the  pathological  conditions,  which 
are  developed  in  our  bodies,  or  are  inherited  from  parents. 

If  we  set  out  from  the  theory  here  advocated  this  cannot  be 
astonishing;  for  the  vasomotor  apparatus  can  of  course  upon 
occasion  become  diseased  as  readily  as  any  other  portion  of  the 
nervous  system,  so  that  it  functions  in  an  abnormal  manner,  or 
cannot  function  at  all.  We  may  even  regard  it  as  especially 
exposed  to  the  danger  of  functioning  in  a  pathological  manner, 
because  it  is  that  part  of  the  nervous  system  which  has  least 
rest  and  is  most  frequently  liable  to  functional  disturbances. 


68o  CARL  GEORG  LANGE 

Where  this  happens  in  an  individual,  he  becomes  according 
to  circumstances,  depressed  or  distracted,  anxious  or  unre- 
strainedly merry,  embarrassed,  etc.  Everything  is  without 
apparent  motive,  and  even  though  he  is  conscious  of  having  no 
reason  whatever  for  his  anger,  his  fear,  or  his  joy.  Where  is  there 
any  support  here  for  the  hypothesis  of  psychical  emotion? 

Such  cases  are  extraordinarily  frequent.  Every  alienist 
knows  the  sharply  developed  forms  which  appear  as  melan- 
cholia or  mania;  every  physician  who  occupies  himself  at  all 
thoroughly  with  nervous  diseases  has  ample  opportunity  to  ob- 
serve the  even  more  instructive  light  forms  on  the  borderland 
between  the  real  diseases  of  the  mind  and  mere  depressions, 
such  as  are  included  under  the  ordinary  names  of  irritability, 
oddity,  and  dejection.  Very  frequently  we  find  the  dejection, 
the  imaginary  grief,  or  even  despair,  which  often  results  in  sui- 
cide, combined  with  clear  consciousness  of  the  entire  absence 
of  a  single  psychical  motive  for  grief.  Not  much  less  frequent  is 
the  pathological  anxiety,  which  often  accompanies  that  related 
emotion  of  grief,  but  often  enough  is  found  alone.  It  goes  with- 
out saying,  that  joy  appears  more  rarely  in  actual  pathological 
manifestations.  The  mere  circumstance  that  a  joy  appears 
without  motive  will  naturally,  at  least  among  the  laity,  seldom 
suffice  to  cause  it  to  be  regarded  as  pathological, and  still  less  to 
cause  medical  treatment  to  be  sought  for  the  cure  of  this  state. 
For  such  action  it  will  be  commonly  necessary,  that  either  the 
joy  manifest  itself  in  an  entirely  unrestrained  and  immoderate 
manner  in  the  form  of  a  more  or  less  pronounced  mania,  or  that 
it  alternate  in  a  striking  fashion  with  periods  of  dejection,  and 
thus  attract  attention  as  something  unnatural.  The  same  holds 
true  of  anger.  We  are  in  fact  accustomed,  as  regards  this  emo- 
tion, to  put  up  with  a  good  deal  without  surmising  it  to  be  any- 
thing pathological,  and  as  a  rule  we  are  not  exacting  as  to  its 
cause.  But  everything  indeed  has  its  limits,  and  there  are 
outbreaks  of  anger  often  enough  so  groundless  and  unre- 
strained, that  all  will  agree  in  recognizing  them  as  manifesta- 
tions of  a  pathological  state. 

There  exists  probably  for  those  who  have  no  medical  training 


THE  EMOTIONS  68i 

scarcely  anything  that  can  be  more  clarifying  with  reference  to 
the  diseased  states  of  the  mind  here  discussed,  than  the  observ- 
ation of  such  a  pathological  paroxysm  of  temper.  Especially 
is  this  true,  if  it  appears  wholly  uncomplicated  by  other  psychi- 
cal disturbances,  as  is  the  case  in  the  form  of  illness  which  goes 
by  the  name  of  "  transitory  mania, "  and  is  indeed  of  rare  occur- 
rence. The  attack  comes  often  without  the  least  apparent  cause 
to  an  otherwise  entirely  sane  person,  if  disposed  thereto;  and 
throws  him  —  to  use  the  language  of  a  recent  writer^  upon  this 
disease  —  into  a  state  of  wild  paroxysm  of  rage,  accompanied 
by  a  terrible  and  blindly  furious  impulse  to  injure  and  to 
destroy.  The  patient  suddenly  assails  everything,  strikes, 
kicks,  and  strangles  whomsoever  he  can  seize,  throws  every- 
thing about  him  that  he  can  lay  hands  upon,  breaks  to  pieces 
whatever  comes  near  him,  rends  his  clothes,  screams,  howls 
and  roars  with  glaring  rolling  eyes,  and  thereby  exhibits  all 
the  symptoms  of  vasomotor  congestion  which  we  have  come  to 
recognize  as  the  accompaniment  of  madness.  The  face  is 
flushed  and  swollen,  the  cheeks  are  hot,  the  eyes  are  bulging, 
their  conjunctiva  are  filled  with  blood,  the  beating  of  the  heart 
is  increased,  and  the  pulse  reaches  100-120  strokes  a  minute. 
The  neck  arteries  swell  and  throb,  the  veins  are  distended,  the 
saliva  flows.  The  fit  lasts  only  a  few  hours,  ends  suddenly  in 
a  sleep  of  eight  to  ten  hours  duration,  and  upon  waking  the 
patient  has  entirely  forgotten  what  has  happened. 

The  pathological  emotions  here  mentioned,  which  originate 
as  stated  from  abnormal  bodily  conditions,  can  appear  also  as 
the  results  of  other  diseases,  or  proceed  from  digestive  de- 
rangements. They  are  on  that  account  influenced  also  by  the- 
rapeutic methods,  and  can  be  alleviated  or  cured.  The  transit- 
ory mania  above  described,  which  has  so  evidently  its  cause  in 
a  sudden  congestion  of  the  brain,  can,  according  to  the  author 
cited,  be  checked  oftentimes  by  a  bandage  of  ice  upon  the  head. 

I  foresee  here  an  objection  which  I  shall  not  pass  unnoticed 
in  spite  of  its  logical  weakness.  Undoubtedly  many  will  say,  in 
harmony  with  common  usage,  that  the  states  which  are  occa- 

^  O.  Schwartz,  Die  transiiorische  Tobsucht,  Wien,  1880. 


682  CARL  GEORG  LANGE 

sioned  by  purely  bodily  influences  or  by  diseased  bodily  condi- 
tions, can  indeed  be  similar  to  the  emotions,  but  they  are  not 
emotions..  For  example,  the  delirium  that  the  fly  agaric  occa- 
sions, or  that  appears  in  mania,  presents  indeed  the  picture  of 
rage,  but  is  not  "actual"  rage,  any  more  than  the  happiness 
which  comes  from  drinking  wine  is  "real"  happiness.  One 
cannot  for  that  reason  conclude  from  the  absence  of  moral 
wrath  in  the  person  poisoned  by  fly  agaric  or  possessed  of  a 
mania,  that  there  does  not  exist  at  all  any  such  purely  psychi- 
cal state,  provided  the  wrath  is  brought  about  in  the  ordinary 
way  by  a  moral  impression. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  any  such  division  of  emotions  into  real 
and  apparent,  or  any  such  limitation  of  the  domain  of  real  emo- 
tions is  entirely  arbitrary,  and  based  upon  a  petitio  principii. 
The  reason  of  the  claim  to  an  exceptional  position  for  the  emo- 
tions of  intellectual  origin,  as  if  they  were  the  only  real  ones,  is 
purely  and  solely  the  belief,  that  they  are  due  to  the  activity  of 
the  mind.  But  that  is  precisely  the  question  under  discussion. 

In  reality  the  difference  between  the  passion  of  the  warrior 
frenzied  by  the  fly  agaric,  or  of  the  maniac,  and  of  one  who  has 
suffered  a  mortal  offence,  exists  only  in  the  difference  and  in  the 
consciousness  of  the  respective  causes,  or  in  the  absence  of  the 
consciousness  of  any  cause.  If  one  desires  upon  this  basis  to  es- 
tablish a  distinction,  there  is  naturally  no  objection  to  be  made, 
provided  only  one  is  clear  wherein  the  difference  consists. 

Moreover  it  is  not  so  easy,  as  it  probably  appears,  to  draw  a 
sharp  line  of  distinction  between  material  and  psychical  causes 
of  emotion;  if  we  seek  to  analyse  their  physiological  difference, 
it  resolves  itself  into  something  physiologically  quite  irrelevant, 
and  slips  from  our  grasp. 

No  one  has  ever  thought  of  distinguishing  a  true  emotion 
from  one  produced  by  an  uncommonly  loud  noise.  No  one  hesi- 
tates to  regard  it  as  a  sort  of  fright;  and  in  fact  it  shows  all  the 
usual  characteristics  of  fright.  And  yet  it  is  by  no  means  united 
with  the  idea  of  danger,  or  in  any  way  occasioned  by  an  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  a  memory,  or  any  intellectual  process  whatever. 
The  phenomena  of  fright  follow  the  noise  immediately  without 


THE  EMOTIONS  683 

a  trace  of  mental"  fear.  Merely  because  of  the  noise  of  the 
report,  many  persons  can  never  become  accustomed  to  stand 
beside  a  cannon  when  it  is  discharged,  although  they  know  per- 
fectly well  there  is  no  danger,  either  for  themselves  or  for  others. 
The  case,  moreover,  of  the  infant  can  be  cited,  which  exhibits 
all  the  symptoms  of  fear  whenever  it  hears  a  loud  noise,  and 
yet  we  cannot  reasonably  assume  that  the  sound  excited  in  the 
child  any  idea  of  danger.  In  this  case,  we  must  assume  that  if 
the  vasomotor  reflexes  are  not  directly  caused  by  the  acoustic 
nerves,  they  are  at  least  by  the  direct  action  of  the  acoustic  cen- 
tres, and  we  have  therefore  an  emotion  of  purely  material 
origin.^  We  must  therefore  either  exclude  this  fear  from  the 
true  emotions,  or  we  cannot  strictly  maintain  the  distinction 
between  the  mentally  and  the  bodily  conditioned  emotions. 

We  are  placed  in  the  same  dilemma  by  the  emotions,  as  a 
rule  certainly  less  intensive  but  nevertheless  sufficiently  dis- 
tinct, which  are  produced  by  the  simple  impressions  of  the 
other  sense  organs,  and  are  not  united  with  any  kind  of  associa- 
tion. Such  are,  for  example,  the  pleasure  from  a  charming 
color  or  combination  of  colors,  the  repugnance  towards  a  dis- 
agreeable taste  or  odor,  or  the  discomfort  from  a  pain. 

If  one  has  only  once  begun  to  feel  uncertain  about  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  line  of  demarcation  between  the  mental  and  bod- 
ily causes  of  emotions,  there  arises  a  strong  impulse  to  investi- 
gate what  physiological  significance  can  be  attributed  to  their 
difference.  One  seeks  then  what  difference  exists  in  the  cerebral 
mechanism  of  the  emotions,  according  as  they  are  determined 
by  a  so-called  mental  cause,  or  by  one  purely  material. 

To-day  with  our  still  very  imperfect  knowledge  of  cerebral 
physiology,  it  is  certainly  not  very  tempting  to  make  an  at- 
tempt at  an  explanation  of  what  takes  place  in  the  brain  as  the 
result  of  mental  work.  Naturally,  we  can  only  sketch  some 
fundamental  outlines  very  roughly,  and,  in  truth,  with  every 

1  That  we  here  deal  with  a  simple  reflex,  immediately  produced  in  the  motor 
nerves,  as  Preyer  appears  to  suppose  {Die  Seele  des  Kindes,  2te  Aufl.  p.  51)  is 
not  probable;  partly  because  these  motor  phenomena  have  not  in  general  the 
character  of  reflex  movement  excited  by  a  sudden  impression,  and  partly  be- 
cause the  effects  in  question  are  not  confined  to  motor  phenomena. 


684  CARL  GEORG  LANGE 

possible  reserve  with  reference  to  the  accuracy  of  the  results. 
Nevertheless,  in  psychological  investigations  it  is  not  only  just- 
ifiable, but  is  also  correct  and  useful  to  examine  how  closely  we 
can  approach  a  solution  with  our  present  physiological  know- 
ledge. At  all  events  we  can  take  courage  from  the  fact,  that  we 
know  the  relations  here  discussed  —  in  their  chief  characteris- 
tics at  least  —  are  of  their  kind  almost  the  simplest,  and  the 
easiest  to  fathom.* 

*  "The  only  point,"  says  Th.  Ribot  in  his  The  Psychology  of  the  Emotions,  "in 
which  I  dififer  from  these  authors  [James  and  Lange]  relates  to  their  way  of 
putting  the  proposition,  not  to  its  substance. 

"  It  is  evident  that  our  two  authors.whether  consciously  or  not,  share  the  dualist 
point  of  view  with  the  common  opinion  which  they  are  combating;  the  only  differ- 
ence being  in  the  interversion  of  cause  and  effect.  Emotion  is  a  cause  of  which 
the  physical  manifestations  are  the  effect,  says  one  party;  the  physical  manifesta- 
tions are  the  cause  of  which  emotion  is  the  effect,  says  the  other.  In  my  view, 
there  would  be  a  great  advantage  in  eliminating  from  the  question  every  notion 
of  cause  and  effect,  every  relation  of  causality,  and  in  substituting  for  the  dual- 
istic  position  a  unitary  or  monistic  one.  The  Aristotelian  formula  of  matter  and 
form  seems  to  me  to  meet  the  case  better,  if  we  understand  by  'matter'  the 
corporeal  facts,  and  by 'form'  the  corresponding  psychical  Ftate:  the  two  terms, 
by-the-bye,  only  existing  in  connection  with  each  other  and  being  inseparable  ex- 
cept as  abstract  conceptions.  It  was  traditional  in  ancient  psychology  to  study 
the  relations  of '  the  soul  and  the  body '  —  the  new  psychology  does  not  speak  of 
them.  In  fact,  if  the  question  takes  a  metaphysical  form,  it  is  no  longer  psychol- 
ogy; if  it  takes  an  experimental  form,  there  is  no  reason  to  treat  it  separately, 
because  it  is  treated  in  connection  with  everything.  No  state  of  consciousness  can 
be  dissociated  from  its  physical  conditions:  they  constitute  a  natural  whole,  which 
must  be  studied  as  such.  Every  kind  of  emotion  ought  to  be  considered  in  this 
way:  all  that  is  objectively  expressed  by  the  movements  of  the  face  and  body,  by 
vasomotor,  respiratory,  and  secretory  disturbances,  is  expressed  subjectively  by 
correlative  states  of  consciousness,  classed  by  external  observation  according  to 
their  qualities.  It  is  a  single  occurrence  expressed  in  two  languages.'  We  have 
previously  assimilated  the  emotions  to  psycho-physiological  organisms;  this 
unitary  point  of  view,  being  more  conformable  to  the  nature  of  things  and  to  the 
present  tendencies  of  psychology,  seems  to  me,  in  practice,  to  eliminate  many 
objections  and  diflSculties.  Whether  we  adopt  this  theory  or  not,  we  have  in 
any  case  acquired  the  certainty  that  the  organic  and  motor  manifestations 
are  not  accessories,  that  the  study  of  them  is  part  of  the  study  of  emotion." 

Pp.  III-II2. 


WILHELM  WUNDT 

(1832-       ) 

PRINCIPLES  OF  PHYSIOLOGICAL 
PSYCHOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  German*  by 
EDWARD  BRADFORD  TITCHENER 

INTRODUCTION 
§  I.  The  Problem  of  Physiological  Psychology 

The  title  of  the  present  work  is  in  itself  a  sufficiently  clear 
indication  of  the  contents.  In  it,  the  attempt  is  made  to  show 
the  connexion  between  two  sciences  whose  subject-matters  are 
closely  interrelated,  but  which  have,  for  the  most  part,  followed 
wholly  divergent  paths.  Physiology  and  psychology  cover,  be- 
tween them,  the  field  of  vital  phenomena;  they  deal  with  the 
facts  of  life  at  large,  and  in  particular  with  the  facts  of  hurrian 
life.  Physiology  is  concerned  with  all  those  phenomena  of  Ufa 
that  present  themselves  to  us  in  sense  perception  as  bodily 
processes,  and  accordingly,  form  part  of  that  total  environment 
which  we  name  the  external  world.  Psychology,  on  the  other 
hand,  seeks  to  give  account  of  the  interconnexion  of  processes 
which  are  evinced  by  our  own  consciousness,  or  which  we  infer 
from  such  manifestations  of  the  bodily  life  in  other  creatures  as 
indicate  the  presence  of  a  consciousness  similar  to  our  own. 

This  division  of  vital  processes  into  physical  and  psychical 
is  useful  and  even  necessary  for  the  solution  of  scientific  prob- 
lems. We  must,  however,  remember  that  the  life  of  an  organ- 

*  From  Grundziige  der  physiologischen  Psychologie,  2  Bde.  Leipzig,  1873-74;  5 
ximgearb.  Aufl.  3  Bde.  1902.  Reprinted  here  from  W.VVundt's  Principles  of  Physi- 
ological Psychology,  translated  by  E.  B.  Trtchener,  New  York,  The  Macmillan 
Co.  1904. 


686  WILHELM  WUNDT 

ism  is  really  one;  complex,  it  is  true,  but  still  unitary.  We  can, 
therefore,  no  more  separate  the  processes  of  bodily  life  from 
conscious  processes  than  we  can  mark  off  an  outer  experience, 
mediated  by  sense  perceptions,  and  oppose  it,  as  something 
wholly  separate  and  apart,  to  what  we  call '  inner '  experience, 
the  events  of  our  own  consciousness.  On  the  contrary:  just  as 
one  and  the  same  thing,  e.g.,  a  tree  that  I  perceive  before  me, 
falls  as  external  object  within  the  scope  of  natural  science,  and 
as  conscious  contents  within  that  of  psychology,  so  there  are 
many  phenomena  of  the  physical  life  that  are  uniformly  con- 
nected with  conscious  processes,  while  these  in  turn  are  always 
bound  up  with  processes  in  the  living  body.  It  is  a  matter  of 
every-day  experience  that  we  refer  certain  bodily  movements 
directly  to  volitions,  which  we  can  observe  as  such  only  in  our 
consciousness.  Conversely,  we  refer  the  ideas  of  external  objects 
that  arise  in  consciousness  either  to  direct  affection  of  the  organs 
of  sense,  or,  in  the  case  of  memory  images,  to  physiological  ex- 
citations within  the  sensory  centres,  which  we  interpret  as 
after-effects  of  foregone  sense  impressions. 

It  follows  then,  that  physiology  and  psychology  have  many 
points  of  contact.  In  general,  there  can  of  course  be  no  doubt 
that  their  problems  are  distinct.  But  psychology  is  called  upon 
to  trace  out  the  relations  that  obtain  between  conscious  pro- 
cesses and  certain  phenomena  of  the  physical  life;  and  physi- 
ology, on  its  side,  cannot  afford  to  neglect  the  conscious  con- 
tents in  which  certain  phenomena  of  this  bodily  life  manifest 
themselves  to  us.  Indeed,  as  regards  physiology,  the  interde- 
pendence of  the  two  sciences  is  plainly  in  evidence.  Practically 
everything  that  the  physiologists  tell  us,  by  way  of  fact  or  of 
hypothesis,  concerning  the  processes  in  the  organs  of  sense  and 
in  the  brain,  is  based  upon  determinate  mental  symptoms:  so 
that  psychology  has  long  been  recognised,  explicitly  or  im- 
plicitly, as  an  indispensable  auxiliary  of  physiological  investi- 
gation. Psychologists,  it  is  true,  have  been  apt  to  take  a  dif- 
ferent attitude  towards  physiology.  They  have  tended  to  regard 
as  superfluous  any  reference  to  the  physical  organism;  they 
have  supposed  that  nothing  more  is  required  for  a  science  of 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY        687 

mind  than  the  direct  apprehension  of  conscious  processes 
themselves.  It  is  in  token  of  dissent  from  any  such  standpoint 
that  the  present  work  is  entitled  a  "  physiological  psychology." 
We  take  issue,  upon  this  matter,  with  every  treatment  of  psy- 
chology that  is  based  on  simple  self-observation  or  on  philo- 
sophical presuppositions.  We  shall,  whenever  the  occasion  seems 
to  demand,  employ  physiology  in  the  service  of  psychology.  We 
are  thus,  as  was  indicated  above,  following  the  example  of 
physiology  itself,  which  has  never  been  in  a  position  to  disre- 
gard facts  that  properly  belong  to  psychology,  —  although  it 
has  often  been  hampered  in  its  use  of  them  by  the  defects  of 
the  empirical  or  metaphysical  psychology  which  it  has  found 
current. 

Physiological  psychology  is,  therefore,  first  of  all  psychology. 
It  has  in  view  the  same  principal  object  upon  which  all  other 
forms  of  psychological  exposition  are  directed :  the  investigation 
of  conscious  processes  in  the  modes  of  connexion  peculiar  to  them. 
It  is  not  a  province  of  physiology;  nor  does  it  attempt,  as  has 
been  mistakenly  asserted,  to  derive  or  explain  the  phenomena 
of  the  psychical  from  those  of  the  physical  life.  We  may  read 
this  meaning  into  the  phrase  'physiological  psychology,'  just 
as  we  might  interpret  the  title  *  microscopical  anatomy  *  to 
mean  a  discussion,  with  illustrations  from  anatomy,  of  what 
has  been  accomplished  by  the  microscope;  but  the  words  should 
be  no  more  misleading  in  the  one  case  than  they  are  in  the  other. 
As  employed  in  the  present  work,  the  adjective  '  physiological ' 
implies  simply  that  our  psychology  will  avail  itself  to  the  full 
of  the  means  that  modern  physiology  puts  at  its  disposal  for 
the  analysis  of  conscious  processes.  It  will  do  this  in  two  ways. 

( I )  Psychological  inquiries  have,  up  to  the  most  recent  times, 
been  undertaken  solely  in  the  interest  of  philosophy;  physiology 
was  enabled,  by  the  character  of  its  problems,  to  advance  more 
quickly  towards  the  application  of  exact  experimental  methods. 
Since,  however,  the  experimental  modification  of  the  processes 
of  life,  as  practised  by  physiology,  oftentimes  effects  a  concomi- 
tant change,  direct  or  indirect,  in  the  processes  of  consciousness, 
—  which,  as  we  have  seen,  form  part  of  vital  processes  at  large, 


688  WILHELM  WUNDT 

—  it  is  clear  that  physiology  is,  in  the  very  nature  of  the  case, 
qualified  to  assist  psychology  on  the  side  of  method;  thus  ren- 
dering the  same  help  to  psychology  that  it  itself  received  from 
physics.  In  so  far  as  physiological  psychology  receives  assistance 
from  physiology  in  the  elaboration  of  experimental  methods, 
it  may  be  termed  experimental  psychology.  This  name  suggests, 
what  should  not  be  forgotten  that  psychology,  in  adopting  the 
experimental  methods  of  physiology,  does  not  by  any  means 
take  them  over  as  they  are,  and  apply  them  without  change  to 
a  new  material.  The  methods  of  experimental  psychology  have 
been  transformed  —  in  some  instances,  actually  remodelled  — 
by  psychology  itself,  to  meet  the  specific  requirements  of  psy- 
chological investigation.  Psychology  has  adapted  physiologi- 
cal, as  physiology  adapted  psychical  methods,  to  its  own  ends. 
(2)  An  adequate  definition  of  life,  taken  in  the  wider  sense, 
must  (as  we  said  just  now)  cover  both  the  vital  processes  of 
the  physical  organism  and  the  processes  of  consciousness. 
Hence,  wherever  we  meet  with  vital  phenomena  that  present 
the  two  aspects,  physical  and  psychical,  there  naturally  arises 
a  question  as  to  the  relations  in  which  these  aspects  stand 
to  each  other.  So  we  come  face  to  face  with  a  whole  series  of 
special  problems,  which  may  be  occasionally  touched  upon  by 
physiology  or  psychology,  but  which  cannot  receive  their  final 
solution  at  the  hands  of  either,  just  by  reason  of  that  division 
of  labour  to  which  both  sciences  alike  stand  committed.  Experi- 
mental psychology  is  no  better  able  to  cope  with  them  than  is 
any  other  form  of  psychology,  seeing  that  it  differs  from  its 
rivals  only  in  method,  and  not  in  aim  or  purpose.  Physiologi- 
cal psychology,  on  the  other  hand,  is  competent  to  investigate 
the  relations  that  hold  between  the  processes  of  the  physical  and 
those  of  the  mental  life.  And  in  so  far  as  it  accepts  this  second 
problem,  we  may  name  it  a  psychophysics.  If  we  free  this  term 
from  any  sort  of  metaphysical  implication  as  to  the  relation  of 
mind  and  body,  and  understand  by  it  nothing  more  than  an 
investigation  of  the  relations  that  may  be  shown  empirically 
to  obtain  between  the  psychical  and  the  physical  aspects  of 
vital  processes,  it  is  clear  at  once  that  psychophysics  becomes 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY       689 

for  us  not,  what  it  is  sometimes  taken  to  be,  a  science  interme- 
diate between  physiology  and  psychology,  but  rather  a  science 
that  is  auxiliary  to  both.  It  must,  however,  render  service  more 
especially  to  psychology,  since  the  relations  existing  between 
determinate  conditions  of  the  physical  organisation,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  processes  of  consciousness,  on  the  other, 
are  primarily  of  interest  to  the  psychologist.  In  its  final  purpose, 
therefore,  this  psychophysical  problem  that  we  have  assigned 
to  physiological  psychology  proves  to  be  itself  psychological. 
In  execution,  it  will  be  predominantly  physiological,  since  psy- 
chophysics  is  concerned  to  follow  up  the  anatomical  and  physi- 
ological investigation  of  the  bodily  substrates  of  conscious 
processes,  and  to  subject  its  results  to  critical  examination  with 
a  view  to  their  bearing  upon  our  psychical  life. 

There  are  thus  two  problems  which  are  suggested  by  the 
title  "  physiological  psychology  " :  the  problem  of  method,  which 
involves  the  application  of  experiment,  and  the  problem  of  a 
psychophysical  supplement,  which  involves  a  knowledge  of  the 
bodily  substrates  of  the  mental  hfe.  For  psychology  itself,  the 
former  is  the  more  essential ;  the  second  is  of  importance  mainly 
for  the  philosophical  question  of  the  unitariness  of  vital  pro- 
cesses at  large.  As  an  experimental  science,  physiological 
psychology  seeks  to  accomplish  a  reform  in  psychological  in- 
vestigation comparable  with  the  revolution  brought  about  in 
the  natural  sciences  by  the  introduction  of  the  experimental 
method.  From  one  point  of  view,  indeed,  the  change  wrought 
is  still  more  radical :  for  while  in  natural  science  it  is  possible, 
under  favorable  conditions,  to  make  an  accurate  observation 
without  recourse  to  experiment,  there  is  no  such  possibility 
in  psychology.  It  is  only  with  grave  reservations  that  what  is 
called  *  pure  self-observation '  can  properly  be  termed  observa- 
tion at  all,  and  under  no  circumstances  can  it  lay  claim  to  ac- 
curacy. On  the  other  hand,  it  is  of  the  essence  of  experiment  that 
we  can  vary  the  conditions  of  an  occurrence  at  will  and,  if  we  are 
aiming  at  exact  results,  in  a  quantitatively  determinable  way. 
Hence,  even  in  the  domain  of  natural  science,  the  aid  of  the  ex- 
perimental method  becomes  indispensable  whenever  the  prob- 


690  ■  WILHELM  WUNDT 

lem  set  is  the  analysis  of  transient  and  impermanent  phenom- 
ena, and  not  merely  the  observation  of  persistent  and  relatively 
constant  objects.  But  conscious  contents  are  at  the  opposite 
pK)le  from  permanent  objects;  they  are  processes,  fleeting  occur- 
rences, in  continual  flux  and  change.  In  their  case,  therefore,  the 
experimental  method  is  of  cardinal  importance;  it  and  it  alone 
makes  a  scientific  introspection  possible.  For  all  accurate  obser- 
vation implies  that  the  object  of  observation  (in  this  case  the 
psychical  process)  can  be  held  fast  by  the  attention,  and  any 
changes  that  it  undergoes  attentively  followed.  And  this  fixa- 
tion by  the  attention  implies,  in  its  turn,  that  the  observed  ob- 
ject is  independent  of  the  observer.  Now  it  is  obvious  that  the 
required  independence  does  not  obtain  in  any  attempt  at  a  direct 
self -observation,  undertaken  without  the  help  of  experiment. 
The  endeavour  to  observe  oneself  must  inevitably  introduce 
changes  into  the  course  of  mental  events,  —  changes  which 
could  not  have  occurred  without  it,  and  whose  usual  conse- 
quence is  that  the  very  process  which  was  to  have  been  ob- 
served disappears  from  consciousness.  The  psychological  ex- 
periment proceeds  very  differently.  In  the  first  place,  it  creates 
external  conditions  that  look  towards  the  production  of  a  de- 
terminate mental  process  at  a  given  moment.  In  the  second 
place,  it  makes  the  observer  so  far  master  of  the  general  situa- 
tion, that  the  state  of  consciousness  accompanying  this  process 
remains  approximately  unchanged.  The  great  importance  of 
the  experimental  method,  therefore,  lies  not  simply  in  the  fact 
that,  here  as  in  the  physical  realm,  it  enables  us  arbitrarily 
to  vary  the  conditions  of  our  observations,  but  also  and  essen- 
.tially  in  the  further  fact  that  it  makes  observation  itself  pos- 
sible for  us.  The  results  of  this  observation  may  then  be  fruit- 
fully employed  in  the  examination  of  other  mental  phenomena, 
whose  nature  prevents  their  own  direct  experimental  modifica- 
tion. 

We  may  add  that,  fortunately  for  the  science,  there  are  other 
sources  of  objective  psychological  knowledge,  which  become 
accessible  at  the  very  point  where  the  experimental  method 
fails  us.    These  are  certain  products  of  the  common  mental 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY        691 

life,  in  which  we  may  trace  the  operation  of  determinate  psy- 
chical motives:  chief  among  them  are  language,  myth  and  cus- 
tom. In  part  determined  by  historical  conditions,  they  are  also, 
in  part,  dependent  upon  universal  psychological  laws;  and  the 
phenomena  that  are  referable  to  these  laws  form  the  subject- 
matter  of  a  special  psychological  discipline,  ethnic  psychology. 
The  results  of  ethnic  psychology  constitute,  at  the  same  time, 
our  chief  source  of  information  regarding  the  general  psychology 
of  the  complex  mental  processes.  In  this  way,  experimental 
psychology  and  ethnic  psychology  form  the  two  principal  de- 
partments of  scientific  psychology  at  large.  They  are  supple- 
mented by  child  and  animal  psychology,  which  in  conjunction 
with  ethnic  psychology  attempt  to  resolve  the  problems  of  psy- 
chogenesis.  Workers  in  both  these  fields  may,  of  course,  avail 
themselves  within  certain  Hmits  of  the  advantages  of  the'  ex- 
perimental method.  But  the  results  of  experiment  are  here  mat- 
ters of  objective  observation  only,  and  the  exp)erimental  method 
accordingly  loses  the  peculiar  significance  which  it  possesses 
as  an  instrument  of  introspection.  Finally,  child  psychology 
and  experimental  psychology  in  the  narrower  sense  may  be 
bracketed  together  as  individual  psychology,  while  animal 
psychology  and  ethnic  psychology  form  the  two  halves  of  a 
generic  or  comparative  psychology.  These  distinctions  within 
psychology  are,  however,  by  no  means  to  be  put  on  a  level 
with  the  analogous  divisions  of  the  province  of  physiology. 
Child  psychology  and  animal  psychology  are  of  relatively  slight 
importance,  as  compared  with  the  sciences  which  deal  with  the 
corresponding  physiological  problems  of  ontogeny  and  phylo- 
geny.  On  the  other  hand,  ethnic  psychology  must  always 
come  to  the  assistance  of  individual  psychology,  when  the  de- 
velopmental forms  of  the  complex  mental  processes  are  in 
question. 

§  3.  Prepsychological  Concepts 

The  human  mind  is  so  constituted,  that  it  cannot  gather 
experiences  without  at  the  same  time  supplying  an  admixture 
of  its  own  speculation.  The  first  result  of  this  naive  reflection 


692  WILHELM  WUNDT 

is  the  system  of  concepts  which  language  embodies.  Hence, 
in  all  departments  of  human  experience,  there  are  certain  con- 
cepts that  science  finds  ready  made,  before  it  proceeds  upon  its 
own  proper  business,  —  results  of  that  primitive  reflection 
which  has  left  its  permanent  record  in  the  concept-system  of 
language.  'Heat'  and  'light,'  e.g.,  are  concepts  from  the  world 
of  external  experience,  which  had  their  immediate  origin  in 
sense  perception.  Modern  physics  subsumes  them  both  under 
the  general  concept  of  motion.  But  it  would  not  be  able  to  do 
this,  if  the  physicist  had  not  been  willing  provisionally  to  ac- 
cept the  concepts  of  the  common  consciousness,  and  to  begin 
his  inquiries  with  their  investigation.  '  Mind,'  *  intellect,' '  rea- 
son,' *  understanding,'  etc.,  are  concepts  of  just  the  same  kind, 
concepts  that  existed  before  the  advent  of  any  scientific  psychol- 
ogy. The  fact  that  the  naive  consciousness  always  and  every- 
where points  to  internal  experience  as  a  special  source  of  know- 
ledge, may,  therefore,  be  accepted  for  the  moment  as  sufficient 
testimony  to  the  rights  of  psychology  as  science.  And  this  ac- 
ceptance implies  the  adoption  of  the  concept  of  'mind,'  to  cover 
the  whole  field  of  internal  experience.  *  Mind,'  will  accordingly 
be  the  subject,  to  which  we  attribute  all  the  separate  facts  of 
internal  observation  as  predicates.  The  subject  itself  is  deter- 
mined wholly  and  exclusively  by  its  predicates ;  and  the  refer- 
ence of  these  to  a  common  substrate  must  be  taken  as  nothing 
more  than  an  expression  of  their  reciprocal  connexion.  In  say- 
ing this,  we  are  declining  once  and  for  all  to  read  into  the  con- 
cept of  *  mind '  a  meaning  that  the  naive  linguistic  consciousness 
always  attaches  to  it.  Mind,  in  popular  thought,  is  not  simply 
a  subject  in  the  logical  sense,  but  a  substance,  a  real  being;  and 
the  various  *  activities  of  mind,'  as  they  are  termed,  are  its 
modes  of  expression  or  action.  But  there  is  here  involved  a 
metaphysical  presupposition,  which  psychology  may  possibly 
be  led  to  honour  at  the  conclusion  of  her  work,  but  which  she 
cannot  on  any  account  accept,  untested,  before  she  has  entered 
upon  it.  Moreover,  it  is  not  true  of  this  assumption  as  it  was  of 
the  discrimination  of  internal  experience  at  large,  that  it  is 
necessary  for  the  starting  of  the  investigation.    The  words 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY        693 

coined  by  language  to  symbolise  certain  groups  of  experiences 
still  bear  upon  them  marks  which  show  that,  in  their  primitive 
meanings,  they  stood  not  merely  for  separate  modes  of  existence, 
for  *  substances,'  in  general,  but  actually  for  personal  beings. 
This  personification  of  substances  has  left  its  most  indelible 
trace  in  the  concept  of  genus.  Now  the  word-symbols  of  con- 
ceptual ideas  have  passed  so  long  from  hand  to  hand  in  the 
service  of  the  understanding,  that  they  have  gradually  lost  all 
such  fanciful  reference.  There  are  many  cases  in  which  we 
have  seen  the  end,  not  only  of  the  personification  of  substances, 
but  even  of  the  substantialising  of  concepts.  But  we  are  not 
called  upon,  on  that  account,  to  dispense  with  the  use  whether 
of  the  concepts  themselves  or  of  the  words  that  designate  them. 
We  speak  of  virtue,  honour,  reason;  but  our  thought  does  not 
translate  any  one  of  these  concepts  into  a  substance.  They  have 
ceased  to  be  metaphysical  substances,  and  have  become  logical 
subjects.  In  the  same  way,  then,  we  shall  consider  mind,  for 
the  time  being,  simply  as  the  logical  subject  of  internal  experi- 
ence. Such  a  view  follows  directly  from  the  mode  of  concept- 
formation  employed  by  language,  except  that  it  is  freed  of  all 
those  accretions  of  crude  metaphysics  which  invariably  attach 
to  concepts  in  their  making  by  the  naive  consciousness. 

We  must  take  up  a  precisely  similar  attitude  to  other  ready- 
made  concepts  that  denote  special  departments  or  special  re- 
lations of  the  internal  experience.  Thus  our  language  makes  a 
distinction  between  'mind'  and  'spirit.'  The  two  concepts 
carry  the  same  meaning,  but  carry  it  in  different  contexts: 
their  correlates  in  the  domain  of  external  experience  are  *  body ' 
and  '  matter.'  The  name  *  matter'  is  applied  to  any  object  of 
external  experience  as  it  presents  itself  directly  to  our  senses, 
without  reference  to  an  inner  existence  of  its  own.  *  Body '  is 
matter  thought  of  with  reference  to  such  an  inner  existence. 
*  Spirit,'  in  the  same  way,  denotes  the  internal  existence  as 
considered  out  of  all  connexion  with  an  external  existence; 
whereas  '  mind,'  especially  where  it  is  explicitly  opposed  to 
spirit,  presupposes  this  connexion  with  a  corporeal  existence, 
given  in  external  experience. 


694  WILHELM  WUNDT 

While  the  terms  '  mind '  and  '  spirit '  cover  the  whole  field  of 
internal  experience,  the  various  'mental  faculties,'  as  they  are 
called,  designate  the  special  provinces  of  mind  as  distinguished 
by  a  direct  introspection.  Language  brings  against  us  an  array 
of  concepts  like  'sensibility,'  'feeling,'  'reason,'  'understand- 
ing,' —  a  classification  of  the  processes  given  in  internal  per- 
ception against  which,  bound  down  as  we  are  to  the  use  of  these 
words^  we  are  practically  powerless.  What  we  can  do,  however, 
and  what  science  is  obliged  to  do,  is  to  reach  an  exact  definition 
of  the  concepts,  and  to  arrange  them  upon  a  systematic  plan. 
It  is  probable  that  the  mental  faculties  stood  originally  not 
merely  for  different  parts  of  the  field  of  internal  experience,  but 
for  as  many^different  beings;  though  the  relation  of  these  tq  the 
total  being,  the  mind  or  spirit,  was  not  conceived  of  in  any  very 
definite  way.  But  the  hypostatisation  of  these  concepts  lies 
so  far  back  in  the  remote  past,  and  the  mythological  interpre- 
tation of  nature  is  so  ahen  to  our  modes  of  thought,  that  there 
is  no  need  here  to  warn  the  reader  against  a  top  great  credulity 
in  the  matter  of  metaphysical  substances.  Nevertheless,  there 
is  one  legacy  which  has  come  down  to  modern  science  from  the 
mythopoeic  age.  All  the  concepts  that  we  mentioned  just  now 
have  retained  a  trace  of  the  mythological  concept  oi  force;  they 
are  not  regarded  simply  as  —  what  they  really  are  —  class- 
designations  of  certain  departments  of  the  inner  experience,  but 
are  oftentimes  taken  to  be  forces,  by  whose  means  the  various 
phenomena  are  produced.  Understanding  is  looked  upon  as 
the  force  that  enables  us  to  perceive  truth;  memory  as  the 
force  which  stores  up  ideas  for  future  use;  and  so  on.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  effects  of  these  different  *  forces '  manifest  them- 
selves so  irregularly  that  they  hardly  seem  to  be  forces  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  word;  and  so  the  phrase  *  mental  faculties* 
came  in  to  remove  all  objections.  A  faculty,  as  its  derivation 
indicates,  is  not  a  force  that  must  operate,  necessarily  and  im- 
mutably, but  only  a  force  that  may  operate.  The  influence  of 
the  mythological  concept  of  force  is  here  as  plain  as  it  could 
well  be;  for  the  prototype  of  the  operation  of  force  as  faculty 
is,  obviously,  to  be  found  in  human  action.    The  original 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY        695 

significance  of  faculty  is  that  of  a  being  which  acts.  Here, 
therefore,  in  the  first  formation  of  psychological  concepts,  we 
have  the  germ  of  that  confusion  of  classification  with  ex- 
planation which  is  one  of  the  besetting  sins  of  empirical  psy- 
chology. The  general  statement  that  the  mental  faculties  are 
class  concepts,  belonging  to  descriptive  psychology,  relieves  us 
of  the  necessity  of  discussing  them  and  their  significance  at  the 
present  stage  of  our  inquiry.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  one  can  quite 
well  conceive  of  a  natural  science  of  the  internal  experience  in 
which  sensibility,  memory,  reason  and  understanding  should 
be  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  For  the  only  things  that  we 
are  directly  cognisant  of  in  internal  perception  are  individual 
ideas,  feelings,  impulses,  etc.;  and  the  subsumption  of  these 
individual  facts  under  certain  general  concepts  contributes  ab- 
solutely nothing  toward  their  explanation. 

At  the  present  day,  the  uselessness  of  the  faculty-concepts  is 
almost  universally  conceded.  Again,  however,  there  is  one 
point  in  which  they  still  exercise  a  widespread  influence.  Not 
the  general  class-concepts,  but  the  individual  facts  that,  in  the 
old  order  of  things,  were  subsumed  under  them,  are  now  re- 
garded in  many  quarters  as  independent  phenomena,  existing 
in  isolation.  On  this  view  there  is,  to  be  sure,  no  special  faculty 
of  ideation  or  feeling  or  volition;  but  the  individual  idea,  the 
individual  affective  process,  and  the  individual  voluntary  act 
are  looked  upon  as  independent  processes,  connecting  with  one 
another  and  separating  from  one  another  as  circumstances 
determine.  Now  introspection  declares  that  all  these  professedly 
independent  processes  are  through  and  through  interconnected 
and  interdependent.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  their  separa- 
tion involves  just  the  same  translation  of  the  products  of  ab- 
straction into  real  things  as  we  have  charged  to  the  account  of 
the  old  doctrine  of  faculties, —  only  that  in  this  case  the  ab- 
stractions come  a  little  nearer  to  the  concrete  phenomena.  An 
isolated  idea,  an  idea  that  is  separable  from  the  processes  of 
feeling  and  volition,  no  more  exists  than  does  an  isolated 
mental  force  of  'understanding.'  Necessary  as  these  distinc- 
tions are,  then,  we  must  still  never  forget  that  they  are  based 


696  WILHELM  WUNDT 

upon  abstractions,  —  that  they  do  not  carry  with  them  any 
real  separation  of  objects.  Objectively,  we  can  regard  the  in- 
dividual mental  processes  only  as  inseparable  elements  of  inter- 
connected wholes. 


OUTLINES    OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

Translated  from  the  German  *  by 
CHARLES   HUBBARD  JUDD 

77.  PSYCHICAL   COMPOUNDS 

§  14.  Volitional  Processes 

I.  Every  emotion,  made  up,  as  it  is,  of  a  unified  series  of  in- 
terrelated affective  processes,  may  terminate  in  one  of  two 
ways.  It  may  give  place  to  the  ordinary,  variable,  and  relatively 
unemotional  course  of  feelings.  Such  effective  processes  which 
fade  out  without  any  special  result,  constitute  the  emotions 
in  the  strict  sense,  such  as  were  discussed  in  the  last  paragraph. 
In  a  second  class  of  cases  the  emotional  process  may  pass  into 
a  sudden  change  in  ideational  and  affective  content,  which 
brings  the  emotion  to  an  instantaneous  close;  such  changes  in 
the  sensation  and  affective  state  which  are  prepared  for  by  an 
emotion  and  bring  about  its  sudden  end,  are  called  volitional 
acts.  The  emotion  together  with  its  result  is  a  volitional  process. 

A  volitional  process  is  thus  related  to  an  emotion  as  a  pro- 
cess of  a  higher  stage,  in  the  same  way  that  an  emotion  is  re- 
lated to  a  feeling.  Volitional  act  is  the  name  of  only  one  part 
of  the  process,  that  part  which  distinguishes  a  volition  from  an 
emotion.  The  way  for  the  development  of  volitions  out  of  emo- 
tions is  prepared  by  those  emotions  in  connection  with  which 
external  pantomimetic  expressive  movements  appear.  These 
expressive  movements  appear  chiefly  at  the  end  of  the  pro- 
cess and  generally  hasten  its  completion;  this  is  especially 
true  of  a.nger,  but  to  some  extent  also  of  joy,  care,  etc.  Still, 
in  these  mere  emotions  there  is  an  entire  absence  of  changes 

*  From  the  Grundviss  der  Psychologic,  Lpz.  1896;  7  verb.  Aufl.  1905.  Re- 
printed from  Wundt's  Outlines  of  Psychology  traDslated  by  C.  H.  Judd,  Lpz. 
1897;  3  rev.  ed.  1907. 


698  WILHELM  WUNDT 

in  the  train  of  ideas,  which  changes  are  the  immediate  causes  of 
the  momentary  transformation  of  the  emotion  into  voUtions,  and 
are  also  accompanied  by  characteristic  feelings. 

This  close  interconnection  of  volitional  acts  with  pantomi- 
metic  expressive  movements  necessarily  leads  us  to  consider  as 
the  earliest  stages  of  volitional  development  those  volitions 
which  end  in  certain  bodily  movements,  which  are  in  turn  due 
to  the  preceding  train  of  ideas  and  feelings.  In  other  words,  we 
come  to  look  upon  volition  ending  in  external  volitional  acts, 
as  the  earhest  stages  in  the  development  of  volitions.  The  so- 
called  internal  volitional  acts,  on  the  other  hand,  or  those  which 
close  simply  with  effects  on  ideas  and  feelings,  appear  in  every 
case  to  be  products  of  later  development. 

2.  A  volitional  process  which  passes  into  an  external  act 
may  be  defined  as  an  emotion  which  closes  with  a  pantomi- 
metic  movement  and  has,  in  addition  to  the  characteristics 
belonging  to  all  such  movements,  the  special  property  of  pro- 
dticing  an  external  effect  which  removes  the  emotion  itself.  Such 
an  effect  is  not  possible  for  all  emotions,  but  only  for  those  in 
which  the  very  succession  of  component  feelings  produces  feel- 
ings and  ideas  which  are  able  to  remove  the  preceding  emotion. 
This  is,  of  course,  most  commonly  the  case  when  the  final  result 
of  the  emotion  is  the  direct  opposite  of  the  preceding  feelings. 
The  fundamental  psychological  condition  for  vohtional  acts 
is,  therefore,  the  contrast  between  feelings,  and  the  origin  of  the 
first  volitions  is  most  probably  in  all  cases  to  be  traced  back 
to  unpleasurable  feelings  which  arouse  external  movements, 
which  in  turn  produce  contrasted  pleasurable  feelings.  The  seiz- 
ing of  fpod  to  remove  hunger,  the  struggle  against  enemies 
to  appease  the  feeling  of  revenge,  and  other  similar  processes 
are  original  volitional  processes  of  this  kind.  The  emotions 
coming  from  sense-feelings,  and  the  most  widespread  social 
emotions  such  as  love,  hate,  anger,  and  revenge,  are  thus,  both 
in  men  and  animals,  the  common  origin  of  will.  A  volition  is 
distinguished  in  such  cases  from  an  emotion  only  by  the  fact 
that  the  former  has  added  to  its  emotional  components  an  ex- 
ternal act  that  gives  rise  to  feelings  which,  through  contrast 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  699 

with  the  feelings  contained  in  the  emotion,  bring  the  emotion 
itself  to  an  end.  The  execution  of  the  volitional  act  may  then 
lead  directly,  as  was  originally  always  the  case,  or  indirectly 
through  an  emotion  of  contrasted  effective  content,  into  the 
ordinary  quiet  flow  of  feelings. 

3.  The  richer  the  ideational  and  affective  contents  of  experi- 
ence, the  greater  the  variety  of  the  emotions  and  the  wider  the 
sphere  of  voUtions.  There  is  no  feeling  or  emotion  which  does 
not  in  some  way  prepare  for  a  volitional  act,  or  at  least  have 
some  part  in  such  a  preparation.  All  feelings,  even  those  of  a 
relatively  indifferent  character,  contain  in  some  degree  an 
effort  towards  or  away  from  some  end.  This  effort  may  be  very 
general  and  aimed  merely  at  the  maintenance  or  removal  of  the 
present  affective  state.  While  volition  appears  as  the  most  com- 
plex form  of  affective  process,  presupposing  feelings  and  emo- 
tions as  its  components,  still,  we  must  not  overlook,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  fact  that  single  feelings  continually  appear  which  do 
not  unite  to  form  emotions,  and  emotions  appear  which  do  not 
end  in  vohtional  acts.  In  the  total  interconnection  of  psychical 
processes,  however,  these  three  stages  are  conditions  of  one 
another  and  form  the  related  parts  of  a  single  process  which  is 
complete  only  when  it  becomes  a  volition.  In  this  sense  a  feel- 
ing may  be  thought  of  as  the  beginning  of  a  volition,  or  a  voli- 
tion may  be  thought  of  as  a  composite  affective  process,  and 
an  emotion  may  be  regarded  as  an  intermediate  stage  between 
the  two. 

4.  The  single  feelings  in  an  emotion  which  closes  with  a 
volitional  act  are  usually  far  from  being  of  equal  importance. 
Certain  ones  among  them,  together  with  their  related  ideas, 
are  prominent  as  those  which  are  most  important  in  preparing 
for  the  act.  Those  combinations  of  ideas  and  feelings  which  in 
our  subjective  consciousness  are  the  immediate  antecedents  of 
the  act,  are  called  motives  of  volition.  Every  motive  may  be 
divided  into  an  ideational  and  an  affective  component.  The  first 
we  may  call  the  moving  reason,  the  second  the  impelling  feeling 
of  action.  When  a  beast  of  prey  seizes  his  victim,  the  moving 
reason  is  the  sight  of  the  victim,  the  impelling  feeling  may  be 


700  WILHELM  WUNDT 

either  the  unpleasurable  feeling  of  hunger  or  the  race-hate 
aroused  by  the  sight.  The  reason  for  a  criminal  murder  may  be 
theft,  removal  of  an  enemy,  or  some  such  idea,  the  impelling 
feeling  the  feeling  of  want,  hate,  revenge,  or  envy. 

When  the  emotions  are  of  composite  character,  the  reasons 
and  impelling  feelings  are  mixed,  often  to  so  gr-eat  an  extent 
that  it  would  be  difficult  for  the  author  of  the  act  himself  to 
decide  which  was  the  leading  motive.  This  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  impelling  feelings  of  a  volitional  act  combine,  just 
as  the  elements  of  composite  feelings  do,  to  form  a  unitary 
whole  in  which  all  other  impulses  are  subordinated  to  a  single 
predominating  one;  the  feelings  of  like  direction  strengthening 
and  accelerating  the  eflfect,  those  of  opposite  direction  weaken- 
ing it.  In  the  combinations  of  ideas  and  feelings  which  we  call 
motives,  the  final  weight  of  importance  in  preparing  for  the  act 
of  will  belongs  to  the  feelings,  that  is,  to  the  impelling  feel- 
ings rather  than  to  the  ideas.  This  follows  from  the  very  fact 
that  feelings  are  integral  components  of  the  volitional  process 
itself,  while  the  ideas  are  of  influence  only  indirectly,  through 
their  connections  with  the  feelings.  The  assumption  that  a 
volition  may  arise  from  pure  intellectual  considerations,  or  that 
a  decision  may  appear  which  is  opposed  to  the  inclinations  ex- 
pressed in  the  feelings,  is  a  psychological  contradiction  in  itself. 
It  rests  upon  the  abstract  concept  of  a  will  which  is  trans- 
cendental and  absolutely  distinct  from  actual  psychical  voli- 
tions. The  combination  of  a  number  of  motives,  that  is,  the 
combination  of  a  number  of  ideas  and  feelings  which  stand  out 
from  the  composite  train  of  emotions  to  which  they  belong  as 
the  ideas  and  feelings  which  determine  the  final  discharge  of 
the  act  —  this  combination  furnished  the  essential  condition 
for  the  development  of  will,  and  also  for  the  discrimination  of 
the  single  forms  of  volitional  action. 

5.  The  simplest  case  of  volition  is  that  in  which  a  single 
feeling  in  an  emotion  of  suitable  constitution,  together  with  its 
accompanying  idea,  becomes  a  motive  and  brings  the  process 
to  a  close  through  an  appropriate  external  movement.  Such 
voUtional  processes  determined  by  a  single  motive,  may  be 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  701 

called  simple  voUtiofis.  The  movements  in  which  they  terminate 
are  designated  impulsive  acts.  In  popular  parlance,  however, 
this  definition  of  impulse  by  the  simplicity  of  the  motive,  is  not 
sufficiently  adhered  to.  Another  element,  namely,  the  char- 
acter of  the  feeling  that  acts  as  impelling  force  is,  in  popular 
thought,  usually  brought  into  the  definition.  All  acts  that 
are  determined  by  sense-feelings,  especially  common  feelings, 
are  generally  called  impulsive  acts  without  regard  to  whether  a 
single  motive  or  a  plurality  of  motives  is  operative.  This  basis 
of  discrimination  is  psychologically  inappropriate  and  there  is 
no  justification  for  the  complete  separation  to  which  it  natu- 
rally leads  between  impulsive  acts  and  volitional  acts  as  speci- 
fically distinct  kinds  of  psychical  processes. 

By  impulsive  act,  then,  we  mean  a  simple  volitional  act, 
that  is,  one  resulting  from  a  single  motive,  without  reference 
to  the  relative  position  of  this  motive  in  the  series  of  affective 
and  ideational  processes.  Impulsive  action,  thus  defined,  must 
necessarily  be  the  starting  point  for  the  development  of  all 
volitional  acts,  even  though  it  may  continue  to  appear  later, 
along  with  the  complex  volitional  processes.  To  be  sure,  the 
earliest  impulsive  acts  are  those  which  come  from  sense-feeling. 
Thus,  most  of  the  acts  of  animals  are  impulsive,  but  such  im- 
pulsive acts  appear  continually  in  the  case  of  man,  partly  as  the 
results  of  simple  sense  emotions,  partly  as  the  products  of  the 
habitual  execution  of  certain  volitional  acts  which  were  origin- 
ally determined  by  complex  motives  (10). 

6.  When  several  feelings  and  ideas  in  the  same  emotion 
tend  to  produce  external  action,  and  when  those  components 
of  an  emotional  train  which  have  become  motives  tend  at  the 
same  time  toward  different  external  ends,  whether  related  or 
antagonistic,  then  there  arises  out  of  the  simple  act  a  complex 
volitional  process.  In  order  to  distinguish  this  from  a  simple 
volitional  act,  or  impulsive  act,  we  call  it  a  voluntary  act. 

Voluntary  and  impulsive  acts  have  in  common  the  charac- 
teristic of  proceeding  from  single  motives,  or  from  complexes 
of  motives  which  have  fused  together  and  operate  as  a  single 
unequivocal  impulse.  They  differ  in  the  fact  that  in  voluntary 


702  WILHELM  WUNDT 

acts  the  decisive  motive  has  risen  to  predominance  from  among 
a  number  of  simultaneous  and  antagonistic  motives.  When  a 
clearly  perceptible  conflict  between  these  antagonistic  motives 
precedes  the  act,  we  call  the  volition  by  the  particular  name 
selective  act,  and  the  process  preceding  it  we  call  a  choice.  The 
predominance  of  one  motive  over  other  simultaneous  motives 
can  be  understood  only  when  we  presuppose  such  a  conflict 
in  every  case.  But  we  are  conscious  of  this  conflict  sometimes 
clearly,  sometimes  only  vaguely.  It  is  only  in  those  cases  in 
which  we  are  clearly  conscious  of  the  conflict  that  we  speak  of 
choice  in  the  narrower  sense  of  the  word.  The  difi'erence  be- 
tween a  voluntary  activity  and  a  choice  activity  is  therefore 
a  vanishing  quantity.  We  may  say,  however,  that  the  ordin- 
ary voluntary  process  is  one  in  which  the  psychological  con- 
dition approaches  in  character  impulsive  activity,  while  in 
choice  the  difi'erence  between  impulsive  activity  and  the  higher 
mode  of  behavior  is  always  clear.  We  can  represent  these  differ- 
ent relations,  which  appear  at  different  stages  of  voluntary 

development,  most  ob- 
viously through  some 
such  schematic  dia- 
gram as  that  in  Fig.  i. 
In   this   diagram   the 

Fig.  I.   Symbolical  Representation  of  {A)  an       large  circles  represent 
Impulsive  Act,  (5)  a  Volitional  Act,  and       •  i  ^  +1,     *   in\ 

(p\    c'\\n,\rp  ^^  eacn  case  tne  toiai 

field  of  consciousness, 
while  the  small  circles  within  the  large  ones  indicate  an  idea 
with  a  feeling  tone  which  serves  as  the  motive.  The  small 
circle  which  lies  in  the  middle  represents  the  decisive  motive. 
Diagram  A  represents  an  impulsive  activity,  B  a  voluntary 
activity,  and  C  a  choice  activity.  In  C  alone  the  conflict  of 
motives  is  represented.  This  is  shown  in  the  figure  in  the 
arrows  which  extend  between  the  circles  and  the  central  point 
and  represent  the  conflict  of  motives. 

7.  The  psychical  process  immediately  preceding  the  act, 
in  which  process  the  final  motive  suddenly  gains  the  ascend- 
ency, is  called  in  the  case  of  voluntary  acts  resolution,  in  the 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  703 

•case  of  selective  acts  decision.  The  first  word  indicates  merely 
that  action  is  to  be  carried  out  in  accordance  with  some  con- 
sciously adopted  motive;  the  second  implies  that  several 
courses  of  action  have  been  presented  as  possible  and  that  a 
choice  has  finally  been  made. 

In  contrast  to  the  first  stages  of  a  volition,  which  can  not  be 
clearly  distinguished  from  an  ordinary  emotional  process,  the 
last  stages  of  volition  are  absolutely  characteristic.  They  are 
especially  marked  by  accompanying  feelings  which  never  ap- 
pear anywhere  but  in  vohtions,  and  must  therefore  be  regarded 
as  the  specific  elements  peculiar  to  volition.  These  feelings  are 
first  of  aX\  feelings  of  resolution  and  feelings  of  decision.  Feelings 
of  decision  differ  from  feelings  of  resolution  only  in  the  fact  that 
the  former  are  more  intense.  They  are  both  exciting  and  relax- 
ing feelings,  and  may  be  united  under  various  circumstances  with 
pleasurable  or  unpleasurable  factors.  The  relatively  greater 
intensity  of  the  feeUng  of  decision  is  probably  due  to  its  contrast 
with  the  preceding  feeling  of  doubt  which  attends  the  wavering 
between  different  motives.  The  opposition  between  doubt  and 
decision  gives  the  feeling  of  relaxation  a  greater  intensity.  At 
the  moment  when  the  volitional  act  begins,  the  feelings  of  re- 
solution give  place  to  the  specific  feeling  of  activity,  which  has 
its  sensation  substratum,  in  the  case  of  external  volitional 
acts,  in  the  sensations  of  tension  accompanying  the  move- 
ment. This  feeling  of  activity  is  clearly  exciting  in  its  charac- 
ter, and  may,  according  to  the  special  motives,  of  the  volition, 
be  accompanied  now  by  pleasurable,  now  by  unpleasurable 
elements,  which  may  in  turn  vary  in  the  course  of  the  act  and 
alternate  with  one  another.  As  a  total  feeling,  this  feeUng  of 
activity  is  a  rising  and  falling  temporal  process  extending 
through  the  whole  act  and  finally  passing  into  the  widely 
differing  feelings,  such  as  those  of  fulfilment,  satisfaction,  or 
disappointment,  or  into  the  feelings  and  emotions  connected 
with  the  special  result  of  the  act.  Taking  the  process  as  seen 
in  voluntary  and  selective  acts  as  complete  volitional  acts,  the 
essential  reason  for  distinguishing  impulsive  acts  from  complete 
volitional  acts  is  to  be  found  in  the  absence  of  the  antecedent 


704  WILHELM  WUNDT 

feelings  of  resolution,  and  decision.  The  feeling  connected 
with  the  motive  passes  in  the  case  of  impulsive  acts  directly 
into  the  feeling  of  activity,  and  then  into  the  feelings  which 
correspond  to  the  effect  of  the  act. 

8.  The  transition  from  simple  to  complex  voUtional  acts 
brings  with  it  a  number  of  other  changes  which  are  of  great 
importance  for  the  development  of  will.  The  first  of  these 
changes  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  emotions  which 
introduce  voHtions  lose  their  intensity  more  and  more,  as  a 
result  of  the  counteraction  of  different  mutually  inhibiting 
feelings,  so  that  finally  a  volitional  act  may  result  from  an 
apparently  unemotional  aflfective  state.  To  be  sure,  emotion 
is  never  entirely  wanting;  in  order  that  the  motive  which  arises 
in  an  ordinary  train  of  feehngs  may  bring  about  a  resolution 
or  decision,  it  must  always  be  connected  with  some  degree 
of  emotional  excitement.  The  emotional  excitement  can,  how- 
ever, be  so  weak  and  transient  that  we  overlook  it.  We  do  this 
the  more  easily  the  more  we  are  inclined  to  unite  in  the  single 
idea  of  the  voUtion  both  the  short  emotion  which  merely  attends 
the  rise  and  action  of  the  motive,  and  the  resolution  and  execu- 
tion which  constitute  the  act  itself.  This  weakening  of  the  emo- 
tions results  mainly  from  the  combinations  of  psychical  pro- 
cesses which  we  call  intellectual  development  and  of  which  we 
shall  treat  more  fully  in  the  discussion  of  the  interconnec- 
tion of  psychical  compounds  ( §  17).  Intellectual  processes  can, 
indeed,  never  do  away  with  emotions;  such  processes  are,  on 
the  contrary,  in  many  cases  the  sources  of  new  and  character- 
istic emotions.  A  volition  entirely  without  emotion,  determined 
by  a  purely  intellectual  motive,  is,  as  already  remarked  (p. 
7CX3),  a  psychological  impossibility.  Still,  intellectual  develop- 
ment exercises  beyond  a  doubt  a  moderating  influence  on  emo- 
tions. This  is  particularly  true  whenever  intellectual  motives 
enter  into  the  emotions  which  prepare  the  way  for  volitional 
acts.  This  may  be  due  partly  to  the  counteraction  of  the  feel- 
ings which  generally  takes  place,  or  it  may  be  due  partly  to  the 
slow  development  of  intellectual  motives,  for  emotions  usually 
are  the  stronger,  the  more  rapidly  their  component  feelings  rise. 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  705 

9.  Connected  with  this  moderation  of  the  emotional  com- 
ponents of  volitions  under  the  influence  of  intellectual  motives, 
is  still  another  change.  It  consists  in  the  fact  that  the  act  which' 
closes  the  volition  is  not  an  external  movement.  The  effect 
which  removes  the  exciting  emotion  is  itself  a  psychical  process 
which  does  not  show  itself  directly  through  any  external  symp- 
tom whatever.  Such  an  effect  which  is  imperceptible  for  ob- 
jective observation  is  called  an  internal  volitional  act.  The 
transition  from  external  to  internal  volitional  acts  is  so  bound 
up  with  intellectual  development  that  the  very  character  of 
the  intellectual  processes  themselves  is  to  be  explained  to  a 
great  extent  by  the  influence  of  volitions  on  the  train  of  ideas 
(§  15,  9).  The  act  which  closes  the  voHtion  in  such  a  case  is 
some  change  in  the  train  of  ideas,  which  change  follows  the  pre- 
ceding motives  as  the  result  of  some  resolution  or  decision.  The 
feelings  which  accompany  these  acts  of  immediate  preparation, 
and  the  feeling  of  activity  connected  with  the  change  itself, 
agree  entirely  with  the  feelings  observed  in  the  case  of  external 
volitional  acts.  Furthermore,  action  is  followed  by  more  or  less 
intense  feelings  of  satisfaction,  and  a  removal  of  preceding  emo- 
tional and  affective  strain.  The  only  difference,  accordingly, 
between  these  special  volitions  connected  with  the  intellectual 
development  and  the  earlier  forms  of  volition,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  here  the  final  effect  of  the  volition  does  not 
show  itself  in  an  external  bodily  movement. 

Still,  we  may  have  a  bodily  movement  as  the  secondary 
result  of  an  internal  volitional  act,  when  the  resolution  refers  to 
an  external  act  to  be  executed  at  some  later  time.  In  such  a  case 
the  act  itself  always  results  from  a  second,  later  volition.  The 
decisive  motives  for  this  second  process  come,  to  be  sure,  from 
the  preceding  internal  volition,  but  the  two  are  nevertheless 
distinct  and  different  processes.  Thus,  for  example,  the  forma- 
tion of  a  resolution  to  execute  an  act  in  the  future  under  cer- 
tain expected  conditions,  is  an  internal  volition,  while  the  later 
performance  of  the  act  is  an  external  action  different  from  the 
first,  even  though  requiring  the  first  as  a  necessary  antecedent. 
It  is  evident  that  where  an  external  volitional  act  arises  from 


7o6  WILHELM  WUNDT 

a  decision  after  a  conflict  among  the  motives,  we  have  a  transi- 
tional form  in  which  it  is  impossible  to  distinguish  clearly  be- 
tween the  two  kinds  of  volition,  namely,  that  which  consists 
in  a  single  unitary  process  and  that  which  is  made  up  of  two 
processes,  that  is,  of  an  earlier  and  a  later  volition.  In  such  a 
transitional  form,  if  the  decision  is  at  all  separated  in  time 
from  the  act  itself,  the  decision  may  be  regarded  as  an  internal 
volitional  act  preparatory  to  the  execution. 

lo.  These  two  changes  which  take  place  during  the  develop- 
ment of  will,  namely,  the  moderation  of  emotions  and  the  ren- 
dering independent  of  internal  volitions,  are  changes  of  a  pro- 
gressive order.  In  contrast  with  these  there  is  a  third  process 
which  is  one  of  retro  gradation.  When  complex  volitions  with  the 
same  motive  are  often  repeated,  the  conflict  between  the 
motives  grows  less  intense;  the  opposing  motives  which  were 
overcome  in  earlier  cases  grow  weaker  and  finally  disappear 
entirely.  The  complex  act  has  then  passed  into  a  simple,  or  im- 
pulsive act.  This  retrogradation  of  complex  voHtional  processes 
shows  clearly  the  utter  inappropriateness  of  the  limitation  of 
the  concept  "impulsive"  to  acts  of  will  arising  from  sense- 
feelings.  As  a  result  of  the  gradual  elimination  of  opposing  mo- 
tives, there  are  intellectual,  moral,  and  aesthetic,  as  well  as 
simple  sensuous,  impulsive  acts. 

This  regressive  development  is  but  one  step  in  a  process 
which  unites  all  the  external  acts  of  Uving  being,  whether  they 
are  volitional  acts  or  automatic  reflex  movements.  When  the 
habituating  practice  of  certain  acts  is  carried  further,  the  de- 
termining motives  finally  become,  even  in  impulsive  acts, 
weaker  and  more  transient.  The  external  stimulus  originally 
aroused  a  strongly  affective  idea  which  operated  as  a  motive, 
but  now  the  stimulus  causes  the  discharge  of  the  act  before 
it  can  arouse  an  idea.  In  this  way  the  impulsive  movement 
finally  becomes  an  automatic  movement.  The  more  often  this 
automatic  movement  is  repeated,  the  easier  it,  in  turn,  becomes, 
even  when  the  stimulus  is  not  sensed,  as  for  example  in  deep 
sleep  or  during  complete  diversion  of  the  attention.  The  move- 
ment now  appears  as  a  pure  physiological  reflex,  and  the  voli- 
tional process  has  become  a  simple  reflex  process. 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  707 

This  gradual  reduction  of  volitional  to  mechanical  processes, 
which  depends  essentially  on  the  elimination  of  all  the  psychical 
elements  between  the  beginning  and  end  of  the  act,  may  take 
place  either  in  the  case  of  movements  which  were  originally 
impulsive,  or  in  the  case  of  movements  which  have  become 
impulsive  through  the  retrogradation  of  voluntary  acts.  It  is 
not  improbable  that  all  the  reflex  movements  of  both  animals 
and  men  originate  in  this  way.  As  evidence  of  this  we  have, 
besides  the  above  described  reduction  of  volitional  acts  through 
practice  to  pure  mechanical  processes,  also  the  purposeful 
character  of  reflexes,  which  points  to  the  presence  at  some  time 
of  purposive  ideas  as  motives.  Furthermore,  the  fact  that  the 
movements  of  the  lowest  animals  are  all  evidently  simple  vo- 
litional acts,  not  reflexes,  tells  for  the  same  view,  so  that  here 
too  there  is  no  justification  for  the  assumption  frequently  made 
that  acts  of  will  have  been  developed  from  reflex  movements. 
Finally,  we  can  most  easily  explain  from  this  point  of  view  the 
fact  mentioned  in  §  13,  namely,  i\i2it  expressive  movements  may 
belong  to  any  one  of  the  forms  possible  in  the  scale  of  external 
acts.  Obviously  the  simplest  movements  are  impulsive  acts, 
while  many  complicated  pantomimetic  movements  probably 
came  originally  from  voluntary  acts  which  passed  first  into 
impulsive  and  then  into  reflex  movements.  Observed  phenom- 
ena make  it  necessary  to  assume  that  the  retrogradations 
which  begin  in  the  individual  life  are  gradually  carried  fur- 
ther through  the  transmission  of  acquired  dispositions,  so 
that  certain  acts  which  were  originally  voluntary  may  appear 
from  the  first  in  later  descendants  as  impulsive  or  reflex  move- 
ments. 

II.  The  exact  observation  of  volitional  processes  is,  for 
the  reasons  given  above,  impossible  in  the  case  of  volitional 
acts  which  come  naturally  in  the  course  of  life;  the  only  way 
in  which  a  thorough  psychological  investigation  can  be  made, 
is,  therefore,  through  experimental  observation.  To  be  sure, 
we  can  not  produce  volitional  processes  of  every  kind  whenever 
we  wish  to  do  so,  we  must  limit  ourselves  therefore  to  the  ob- 

1  Outlines  of  Psychology,  p.  191. 


7o8  WILHELM  WUNDT 

servation  of  such  processes  as  can  be  easily  influenced  through 
external  means,  namely  such  as  begin  with  external  stimula- 
tions and  terminate  in  external  acts.  The  experiments  which 
serve  this  purpose  are  called  reaction  experiments.  They  may 
be  described  in  their  essentials  as  follows.  A  volitional  process 
of  simple  or  complex  character  is  incited  by  an  external  sense- 
stimulus  and  then  after  the  occurrence  of  certain  psychical 
processes  which  serve  in  part  as  motives,  the  volition  is  brought 
to  an  end  by  a  motor  reaction.  Reaction  experiments  have  a 
second  and  more  general  significance  in  addition  to  their  signi- 
ficance as  means  for  the  analysis  of  volitional  processes.  They 
furnish  means  for  the  measurement  of  the  rate  of  certain  psy- 
chical and  psycho-physical  processes. 

The  simplest  reaction  experiment  that  can  be  tried  is  as  fol- 
lows. At  the  end  of  a  short  but  always  uniform  interval  (2 — 3 
sec.)  after  a  signal  which  serves  to  concentrate  the  attention 
has  been  given,  an  external  stimulus  is  allowed  to  act  on  some 
sense-organ.  At  the  moment  when  the  stimulus  is  perceived, 
a  movement  which  has  been  determined  upon  and  prepared 
before,  as,  for  example,  a  movement  of  the  hand  is  executed. 
The  psychological  conditions  in  this  experiment  correspond  es- 
sentially to  those  of  a  simple  volition.  The  sense  impression 
serves  as  a  simple  motive,  and  this  is  to  be  followed  invariably 
by  a  particular  act.  If  now  we  measure  objectively  by  means 
of  either  graphic  or  other  chronometric  apparatus,  the  interval 
which  elapses  between  the  action  of  the  stimulus  and  the  execu- 
tion of  the  movement,  it  will  be  possible,  by  frequently  repeated 
experiments  of  the  same  kind,  to  become  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  subjective  processes  which  make  up  the  whole 
reaction,  while  at  the  same  time  the  results  of  the  objective 
measurement  will  furnish  a  check  for  the  constancy  or  possible 
variations  in  these  subjective  processes.  This  check  is  especially 
useful  in  those  cases  where  some  condition  in  the  experiment, 
and  thereby  the  subjective  course  of  the  volition  itself,  is  inten- 
tionally modified. 

12.  Such  a  modification  may,  indeed,  be  introduced  even 
in  the  simple  form  of  the  experiment  just  described,  by  vary- 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  709 

ing  the  way  in  which  the  reactor  prepares,  before  the  appear- 
ance of  the  stimulus,  for  the  execution  of  the  act.  When  the 
preparation  is  of  such  a  character  that  expectation  is  directed 
toward  the  stimulus  which  is  to  serve  as  a  motive,  and  the  ex- 
ternal act  does  not  take  place  until  the  stimulus  is  clearly  re- 
cognized, there  results  a  complete  or  sensorial  form  of  reaction. 
When,  on  the  other  hand,  the  preparatory  expectation  is  so 
directed  toward  the  act,  that  the  movement  follows  the  recep- 
tion of  the  stimulus  as  rapidly  as  possible,  there  results  a  short- 
ened form  of  reaction,  or  the  so-called  muscular  reaction.  In 
the  first  case  the  ideational  factor  of  the  expectation  is  a  pale 
memory  image  of  the  familiar  sense  impression.  When  the 
period  of  preparation  is  more  extended,  this  image  oscillates 
between  alternating  clearness  and  obscurity.  The  effective 
element  is  a  feeling  of  expectation  which  oscillates  in  a  similar 
manner  and  is  connected  with  sensations  of  strain  from  the 
sense-organ  to  be  affected,  as  for  example  with  tension  of  the 
tympanic  membrane,  or  of  the  ocular  muscles  of  accommoda- 
tion and  movement.  At  the  moment  when  the  impression  ar- 
rives the  preparatory  feelings  and  sensations  mentioned  are  fol- 
lowed by  a  comparatively  weak  relieving  feeling  of  surprise. 
This  surprise  in  turn  gives  place  to  a  clearly  subsequent  arous- 
ing feeling  of  activity  which  accompanies  the  reaction  move- 
ment and  appears  in  conjunction  with  the  inner  tactual  sensa- 
tions. In  the  second  case,  on  the  other  hand,  where  the  reaction 
is  of  the  shortened  form,  we  may  observe  during  the  p>eriod  of 
preparatory  expectation  a  pale,  wavering  memory  image  of 
the  motor  organ  which  is  to  react  {e.  g.,  the  hand)  together 
with  strong  sensations  of  strain  in  the  same,  and  a  fairly  con- 
tinuous feeling  of  expectation  connected  with  these  sensations. 
At  the  moment  when  the  stimulus  arrives  the  state  of  expecta- 
tion gives  place  to  a  strong  feeling  of  surprise.  There  connect 
with  this  surprise  both  the  feeling  of  activity  which  accom- 
panies the  reaction  and  also  the  sensations  which  arise  in  the 
reaction.  So  rapid  is  this  connection  that  the  surprise  and  the 
subsequent  state  are  not  distinguished  at  all,  or  at  most  only 
very  vaguely.    The  sensorial  reaction-time  is  on  the  average 


7IO  WILHELM  WUNDT 

0.2I0 — 0.290  sec.  ;wM5CM/ar  reaction-time  averages  from  o.ioo — 
0.180  sec.  (the  shortest  time  is  for  sound,  the  longest  for  light). 
13.  By  introducing  special  conditions  we  may  make  com- 
plete and  shortened  reactions  the  starting  points  for  the  study 
of  the  development  of  volitions  in  two  different  directions.  Com- 
plete (sensorial)  reactions  furnish  the  means  of  passing  from 
simple  to  complex  volitions  because  we  can  in  this  case  easily 
insert  different  psychical  processes  between  the  perception  of 
the  impression  and  the  execution  of  the  reaction.  Thus  we  have 
a  voluntary  act  of  relatively  simple  character  when  we  allow  an 
act  of  direct  sensory  cognition  and  discrimination  to  follow  the 
perception  of  the  impression  and  then  let  the  movement  depend 
on  this  second  process.  In  this  case,  not  the  immediate  impres- 
sion, but  the  idea  which  results  from  the  act  of  cognition  or 
discrimination  is  the  motive  for  the  act  to  be  performed.  This 
motive  is  only  one  of  a  greater  or  smaller  number  of  equally 
possible  motives  which  could  have  come  up  in  place  of  it ;  as  a 
result  the  reaction  movement  takes  on  the  character  of  a  volun- 
tary act.  In  fact,  we  may  observe  clearly  the  feeling  of  resolu- 
tion antecedent  to  the  act  and  also  the  feelings  preceding  the 
feeling  of  resolution  and  connected  with  the  perception  of  the 
impression.  This  is  still  more  emphatically  the  case,  and  the 
succession  of  ideational  and  affective  processes  is  at  the  same 
time  more  complicated,  when  we  bring  in  still  another  psychical 
process,  as  for  example  memory  processes,  to  serve  as  the  motive 
for  the  execution  of  the  movement.  Finally,  the  voluntary 
process  becomes  one  of  choice  when  in  such  experiments  the  act 
is  not  merely  influenced  by  a  plurality  of  motives  in  such  a  way 
that  several  must  follow  one  another  before  one  determines  the 
act,  but  when,  in  addition  to  that,  one  of  a  number  of  possible 
different  acts  is  decided  upon  according  to  the  motive  presented. 
This  kind  of  reaction  takes  place  when  preparations  are  made 
for  diflferent  movements,  for  example  one  with  the  right  hand 
another  with  the  left  hand,  or  one  with  each  of  the  ten  fingers, 
and  the  condition  is  prescribed  for  each  movement  that  an  im- 
pression of  a  particular  quality  shall  serve  as  its  motive,  for 
example  the  impression  blue  for  the  right  hand.,  red  for  the  left. 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  711 

14.  Shortened  (muscular)  reactions,  on  the  contrary,  may- 
be used  to  investigate  the  rekogradation  of  volitional  acts  as 
they  become  reflex  movements.  In  this  form  of  reaction  the 
preparatory  expectation  is  directed  entirely  toward  the  ex- 
ternal act  which  is  to  be  executed  as  rapidly  as  possible,  so  that 
voluntary  inhibition  or  execution  of  the  act  in  accordance  with 
the  special  character  of  the  impression  can  here  not  take  place. 
In  other  words,  a  transition  from  simple  to  complex  acts  of  will, 
is  in  this  case  impossible.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  easy  by  prac- 
tice so  to  habituate  one's  self  to  the  invariable  connection  of 
an  impression  and  a  particular  movement,  that  the  process 
of  perception  fades  out  more  and  more  or  takes  place  after  the 
motor  impulse,  so  that  finally  the  movement  becomes  just  like 
a  reflex  movement.  This  reduction  of  volition  to  a  mechanical 
process,  shows  itself  objectively  most  clearly  in  the  shortening 
of  the  objective  time  to  that  observed  for  pure  reflexes,  and 
shows  itself  subjectively  in  the  fact  that  for  psychological  ob- 
servation there  is  a  complete  coincidence  in  point  of  time,  of 
impression  and  reaction,  while  the  characteristic  feeling  of  re- 
solution gradually  disappears  entirely. 

III.    INTERCONNECTION   OF  PSYCHICAL 
COMPOUNDS 

§  17.  Apperceptive  Combinations. 

I.  Associations  in  all  their  forms  are  regarded  by  us  as 
passive  experiences,  because  the  feeling  of  activity,  which  is 
characteristic  of  all  processes  of  volition  and  attention,  never 
arises  except  as  it  is  added  to  the  already  completed  association 
process  in  a  kind  of  apperception  of  the  resultant,  given  content. 
Associations  are,  accordingly,  processes  which  can  arouse 
volitions  but  are  not  themselves  directly  influenced  by  voli- 
tions. This  absence  of  any  dependence  on  volition  is,  however, 
the  criterion  of  a  passive  process. 

The  case  is  essentially  diff"erent  with  the  second  kind  of 
combinations  which  are  formed  between  different  psychical 


712  WILHELM  WUNDT 

compounds  and  their  elements,  namely,  the  apperceptive  com- 
hinalions.  Here  the  feeling  of  activity  with  its  accompanying 
variable  sensations  of  tension  does  not  merely  follow  the  com- 
binations as  an  after-effect  produced  by  them,  but  it  precedes 
them  so  that  the  combinations  themselves  are  immediately  re- 
cognized as  formed  with  the  aid  of  attention.  In  this  sense  these 
experiences  are  called  active  experiences. 

2.  Apperceptive  combinations  include  a  large  number  of 
psychical  processes  which  are  distinguished  in  popular  parlance 
under  the  general  terms  thinking,  reflection,  imagination,  and 
understanding.    These  are  all  regarded  as  psychical  processes 
of  a  type  higher  than  sense  perceptions  or  pure  memory  pro- 
cesses, while  at  the  same  time  they  are  all  looked  upon  as  dif- 
ferent from  one  another.  Especially  is  this  true  of  the  so-called 
functions  of  imagination  and  understanding.  In  contrast  with 
this  loose  view  of  the  faculty  theory,  association  psychology 
sought  to  find  a  unitary  principle  by  subsuming  also  the  apper- 
ceptive combinations  of  ideas  under  the  general  concept  of  as- 
sociation, and  at  the  same  time  limiting  the  concept,  as  noted 
above, ^  to  successive  association.   This  reduction  to  successive 
association  was  effected  either  by  neglecting  the  essential  sub- 
jective and  objective  distinguishing  marks  of  apperceptive 
combinations,  or  by  attempting  to  avoid  the  difficulties  of  an 
explanation,  through  the  introduction  of  certain  supplementary 
concepts  taken  from  popular  psychology.    Thus,  "interest" 
and  '  intelligence"  were  credited  with  an  influence  on  associa- 
tions. Very  often  this  view  was  based  on  the  erroneous  notion 
that  the  recognition  of  certain  distinguishing  features  in  apper- 
ceptive combinations  and  associations  meant  the  assertion  of 
a  fundamental  division  between  the  former  and  the  latter.  Of 
course,  this  is  not  true.   All  psychical  processes  are  connected 
with  associations  as  much  as  with  the  original  sense  percep- 
tions.   Yet,  just  as  associations  always  form  a  part  of  every 
sense  perception  and  in  spite  of  that  appear  in  memory  pro- 
cesses as  relatively  independent  processes,  so  apperceptive 
combinations  are  based  always  on  associations,  but  the  essen- 
1  Outlines  oj  Psychology,  p.  251. 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  713 

tial  attributes  of  these  apperceptive  combinations  are  not 
traceable  to  associations. 

3.  In  trying  to  account  for  the  essential  attributes  of  apper- 
ceptive combinations,  we  may  divide  the  psychical  processes 
which  belong  to  this  class  into  simple  and  complex  apperceptive 
functions.  The  simple  functions  are  those  of  relating  and  com- 
paring, the  complex  those  of  synthesis  and  analysis. 

A.  Simple  Apperceptive  Functions  {Relating  and  Comparing). 

4.  The  most  elementary  apperceptive  function  is  that  of 
relating  two  psychical  contents  to  each  other.  The  grounds  for  such 
relating  are  always  given  in  the  single  psychical  compounds 
and  their  associations,  but  the  actual  carrying  out  of  the  pro- 
cess itself  is  a  special  apperceptive  activity  through  which  the 
relation  itself  becomes  a  special  conscious  content,  distinct 
from  the  contents  which  are  related,  though  indeed  inseparably 
connected  with  them.  For  example,  when  we  recognize  the 
identity  of  an  object  with  one  perceived  before,  or  when  we  are 
conscious  of  a  definite  relation  between  a  remembered  event 
and  a  present  impression,  there  is  in  both  cases  a  relating 
apperceptive  activity  connected  with  the  associations. 

So  long  as  the  recognition  remains  a  pure  association,  the  pro- 
cess of  relating  is  limited  to  the  feeling  of  familiarity  which  fol- 
lows the  assimilation  of  the  new  impression  either  immediately, 
or  after  a  short  interval.  When,  on  the  contrary,  apperception 
is  added  to  association,  this  feeling  is  supplied  with  a  clearly 
recognized  ideational  substratum.  The  earlier  perception  and 
the  new  impression  are  separated  in  time  and  then  brought 
into  a  relation  of  agreement  on  the  basis  of  their  essential  at- 
tributes. The  case  is  similar  when  we  become  conscious  of  the 
motives  of  a  memory  act.  This  also  presupposes  that  a  compari- 
son of  the  memory  image  with  the  impression  which  occasioned 
it,  is  added  to  the  merely  associative  process  which  gave  rise 
to  the  image.  This,  it  will  be  seen,  is  a  process  that  can  be 
brought  about  only  through  attention, 

5.  Thus,  the  relating  function  is  brought  into  activity  through 
associations,  wherever  these  associations  themselves  or  their 


714  WILHELM  WUNDT 

products  are  made  the  objects  of  voluntary  observation.  The 
relating  function  is  connected,  as  the  examples  mentioned 
show,  with  the  function  of  comparing,  whenever  the  related 
contents  of  consciousness  are  clearly  separated  processes,  be- 
longing to  one  and  the  same  class  of  psychical  experiences. 
Relating  activity  is,  therefore,  the  wider  concept,  comparison 
is  the  narrower.  A  comparison  is  possible  only  when  the  com- 
pared contents  are  brought  into  relation  with  one  another.  On 
the  other  hand,  conscious  contents  may  be  related  without  be- 
ing compared  with  one  another,  as  is  the  case,  for  example, 
when  an  attribute  is  related  to  its  object,  or  when  one  process 
is  related  to  another  which  regularly  follows  or  precedes  it.  As 
a  result  of  this  it  follows  that  where  the  fuller  conditions  neces- 
sary for  a  comparison  are  present,  the  experiences  given  may  be 
merely  related,  or  they  may  also  be  compared  with  each  other. 
Thus,  one  calls  it  relating  when  he  thinks  of  a  present  impres- 
sion as  the  reason  for  remembering  an  earlier  experience;  he 
calls  it  comparing,  on  the  other  hand,  when  he  establishes  cer- 
tain definite  points  of  agreement  or  difference  between  the 
earUer  and  the  present  impression. 

6.  The  process  of  comparing  is,  in  turn,  made  up  of  two  ele- 
mentary functions  which  are  as  a  rule  intimately  interconnected. 
These  two  elementary  functions  are  first,  the  perception  of  agree- 
ments, and  second,  the  perception  of  differences.  There  is  a  mis- 
taken view  prevalent  even  in  present-day  psychology.  It 
originated  in  popular  psychology  and  was  strengthened  by  the 
discussions  of  logical  intellectualism.  It  consists  in  the  accept- 
ance of  the  notion  that  the  mere  existence  of  psychical  ele- 
ments and  compounds  is  identical  with  their  app>erceptive 
comparison.  Every  sensation  is  accordingly  treated  as  a  "  sens- 
ory judgment,"  every  immediate  perception  of  distance  as 
a  "judgment  of  depth,"  and  so  on  through  the  whole  series  of 
processes.  In  all  these  cases,  however,  the  judgment  appears 
after  the  sensations  and  ideas;  the  judgment  must,  therefore, 
be  recognized  as  a  separate  process.  To  be  sure,  agreements 
and  differences  arise  in  our  psychical  processes,  if  they  did 
not  we  could  not  observe  them.    But  the  comparing  activity 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  715 

through  which  these  Hkenesses  and  differences  in  sensations  and 
ideas  are  made  evident,  is  not  identical  with  the  sensations  and 
ideas  themselves.  It  is  a  function  which  may  arise  in  connection 
with  these  elements,  but  does  not  necessarily  so  arise. 

7.  Even  the  psychical  elements,  that  is,  sensations,  and 
simple  feelings,  can  be  compared  with  reference  to  their  agree- 
ments and  differences.  Indeed,  it  is  through  a  series  of  such 
comparison  that  we  arrange  these  psychical  elements  into  sys- 
tems, each  one  of  which  contains  the  elements  which  are  most 
closely  related.  Within  a  given  system  two  kinds  of  comparison 
are  possible,  namely,  comparison  in  respect  to  quality  and 
comparisons  in  respect  to  intensity.  Then,  too,  a  comparison 
between  grades  of  clearness  is  possible  when  attention  is  paid 
to  the  way  in  which  the  elements  appear  in  consciousness. 
In  the  same  way  comparison  is  applied  to  intensive  and  exten- 
sive psychical  compounds.  Every  psychical  element  and  every 
psychical  compound,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  member  of  a  regular  sys- 
tem, constitutes  a  psychical  magnitude.  A  determination  of  the 
value  of  such  a  psychical  magnitude  is  possible  only  through 
comparison  with  some  other  magnitude  in  the  same  system. 
Psychical  magnitude  is,  accordingly,  an  original  attribute  of 
every  psychical  element  and  compound.  It  is  of  various  kinds, 
as  intensity,  quality,  extensive  (spatial  and  temporal)  value, 
and  when  the  different  states  of  consciousness  are  considered, 
clearness.  But  the  determination  of  psychical  value  can  be 
effected  only  through  the  apperceptive  function  of  comparison. 

8.  Psychical  measurement  differs  from  physical  measurement 
in  the  fact  that  the  latter  may  be  carried  out  in  acts  of  com- 
parison separated  almost  indefinitely  in  time,  because  its  ob- 
jects are  relatively  constant.  For  example,  we  can  determine 
the  height  of  a  certain  mountain  to-day  with  a  barometer  and 
then  after  a  long  time  we  may  determine  the  height  of  another 
mountain,  and  if  no  sensible  changes  in  the  configuration  of  the 
land  have  taken  place  in  the  interval,  we  can  compare  the  re- 
sults of  our  two  measurements.  Psychical  compounds,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  not  relatively  permanent  objects,  but  contin- 
ually changing  processes,  so  that  we  can  compare  two  such 


7i6  WILHELM  WUNDT 

psychical  magnitudes  only  when  other  conditions  remain  the 
same,  and  when  the  two  factors  to  be  compared  follow  each 
other  in  immediate  succession.  These  requirements  have  as 
their  immediate  corollaries:  first,  that  there  is  no  absolute 
standard  for  the  comparison  of  psychical  magnitudes,  but 
every  such  comparison  stands  by  itself  and  is  of  merely  relative 
vaUdity;  second,  that  finer  comparisons  are  possible  only  be- 
tween psychical  magnitudes  of  the  same  dimension,  so  that  a 
reduction,  analogous  to  that  by  which  the  most  widely  separated 
physical  quantities,  such  as  periods  of  time  and  physical  forces, 
are  all  expressed  in  terms  of  one  dimension  of  space,  is  out  of  the 
question  in  psychical  comparisons. 

9.  It  follows  that  the  possible  relations  between  psychical 
magnitudes  which  can  be  established  by  direct  comparison 
are  limited  in  number.  The  establishment  of  such  relations 
is  possible  only  in  certain  particularly  favorable  cases.  These 
favorable  cases  are  (i)  the  equality  between  two  psychical  mag- 
nitudes and  (2)  the  just  noticeable  difference  between  two  such 
magnitudes,  as  for  example  two  sensation  intensities  of  hke 
quality,  or  two  qualities  of  like  intensity  belonging  to  the  same 
dimension.  As  a  somewhat  more  complex  case  which  still  lies 
within  the  limits  of  immediate  comparison  we  have  (3)  the 
equality  of  two  differences  between  magnitudes,  especially  when 
these  magnitudes  belong  to  neighboring  parts  of  the  same  sys- 
tem. It  is  clear  that  in  each  of  these  three  kinds  of  psychical 
measurements  the  two  fundamental  functions  in  apperceptive 
comparison,  namely  the  perception  of  agreements  and  the  p>er- 
ception  of  differences,  are  both  applied  together.  In  the  first 
case,  one  of  two  psychical  magnitudes,  A  and  B,  is  gradually 
varied  until  it  agrees  for  immediate  comparison  with  the  other; 
thus,  for  example,  B  is  varied  until  it  agrees  with  A.  In  the 
second  case  A  and  B  are  taken  equal  at  first  and  then  B  is 
changed  until  it  appears  either  just  noticeably  greater  or  just 
noticeably  smaller  than  A .  Finally,  the  third  case  is  used  to  the 
greatest  advantage  when  a  whole  line  of  psychical  magnitudes, 
as  for  example  of  sensation  intensities,  extending  from  ^  as  a 
lower  limit  to  C  as  an  upper  limit,  is  so  divided  by  a  middle 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  717 

quantity  B,  which  has  been  found  by  gradual  variations,  and 
is  so  placed  that  the  partial  distance  45  is  apperceived  as  equal 
to  BC. 

10.  The  most  direct  and  most  easily  utilizable  results  de- 
rived from  these  methods  of  comparison  are  given  by  the  second 
method,  or  the  method  of  minimal  differences  as  it  is  called.  The 
difference  between  the  physical  stimuli  which  corresponds  to 
the  just  noticeable  difference  between  psychical  magnitudes  is 
called  the  difference  threshold  of  the  stimulus.  The  intensity 
at  which  the  resulting  psychical  process,  as  for  example  a 
sensation,  can  be  just  apperceived,  is  called  the  stimulus 
threshold.  Observation  shows  that  the  difference  threshold  of 
the  stimulus  increases  in  proportion  to  the  distance  from  the 
stimulus  threshold,  in  such  a  way  that  the  relation  between  the 
difference  threshold  and  the  absolute  quantity  of  the  stimulus 
or  the  relative  difference  threshold,  remains  constant.  If,  for 
example,  a  certain  sound  the  intensity  of  which  is  i  must  be 
increased  1-3  in  order  that  the  sensation  may  be  just  noticeably 
greater,  a  sound  whose  intensity  is  2  must  be  increased  2-3,  one 
with  an  intensity  3  must  be  increased  3-3,  etc.,  to  reach  the  dif- 
ference threshold.  This  law  is  called  Weber's  law,  after  its 
discoverer  E.  H.  Weber.  It  is  easily  understood  when  we  look 
upon  it  as  a  law  of  apperceptive  comparison.  From  this  point  of 
view  it  must  obviously  be  interpreted  to  mean  that  psychical 
magnitudes  can  he  compared  only  according  to  their  relative  values. 

This  view  that  Weber's  law  is  an  expression  of  the  general 
law  of  the  relativity  of  psychical  magnitudes,  assumes  that  the 
psychical  magnitudes  which  are  compared,  themselves  in- 
crease within  the  limits  of  the  validity  of  the  law  in  direct  pro- 
portion to  their  stimuli.  It  has  not  yet  been  possible  to  demon- 
strate the  truth  of  this  assumption  on  its  physiological  side,  on 
account  of  the  difficulties  of  measuring  exactly  the  stimulation 
of  nerves  and  sense-organs.  Still,  we  have  evidence  in  favor  of 
it  in  the  psychological  fact  that  in  certain  special  cases,  where 
the  conditions  of  observation  lead  very  naturally  to  a  compari- 
son of  absolute  differences  in  magnitude, the  absolute  difference 
threshold,  instead  of  the  relative  threshold,  is  found  to  be  con- 


7i8  WILHELM  WUNDT 

stant.  We  have  such  a  case,  for  example,  in  the  comparison, 
within  wide  limits,  of  minimal  differences  in  pitch.  Then,  too, 
where  large  differences  in  sensations  are  compared  according 
to  the  third  method  described  above  (p.  716),  it  is  found  in 
general  that  equal  absolute  stimulus  differences,  not  relative 
differences,  are  perceived  as  equal.  This  shows  that  appercepn 
tive  comparison  follows  two  different  principles  under  different 
conditions,  a  principle  of  relative  comparison  (Weber's  law) 
which  is  the  more  general,  and  a  principle  of  absolute  compari- 
son which  takes  the  place  of  the  first  principle  under  special 
conditions  which  favor  such  a  form  of  apperception. 

II.  As  special  cases  among  the  apperceptive  comparisons 
generally  falling  under  Weber's  law,  are  the  comparisons  of 
magnitudes  which  are  related  to  each  other  as  relatively  greatest 
sensation  differences  or,  when  dealing  with  feelings,  as  opposiies. 
The  phenomena  which  appear  in  such  cases  are  usually  group)ed 
together  under  the  class  name  contrasts.  In  the  department 
where  contrasts  have  been  most  thoroughly  investigated,  that 
is,  in  the  case  of  light  sensations,  there  is  generally  an  utter  lack 
of  discrimination  between  two  phenomena  which  are  obviously 
entirely  different  in  origin,  though  their  results  are  to  a  certain 
extent  related.  We  may  distinguish  these  as  light  induction  or 
physiological  contrast,  and  true  contrast  or  psychological  con- 
trast. Physiological  contrasts  are  closely  connected  with  the 
phenomena  of  after-images,  perhaps  they  are  the  same.  Psycho- 
logical contrasts  are  essentially  different;  they  are  usually 
pushed  into  the  background  by  the  stronger  physiological 
contrasts  when  the  im pressions  are  intense.  Psychological  con- 
trasts are  distinguished  from  physiological  by  two  important 
characteristics.  First,  psychical  contrasts  do  not  reach  their 
greatest  intensity  when  the  brightness  and  saturation  are 
greatest,  but  when  the  sensations  are  at  the  medium  stages, 
where  the  eye  is  most  sensitive  to  changes  in  brightness  and 
saturation.  Second,  under  favorable  conditions  psychical  con- 
trasts can  be  removed  by  comparison  with  an  independent 
object.  Especially  the  latter  characteristic  shows  these  con- 
trasts to  be  unqualifiedly  the  products  of  comparisons.    Thus 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  719 

for  example,  when  a  gray  square  is  laid  on  a  black  ground  and 
close  by  a  similar  gray  square  is  laid  on  a  white  ground  and 
all  are  covered  with  transparent  paper,  the  two  squares  appear 
entirely  different;  the  one  on  the  black  ground  looks  bright, 
nearly  white,  while  the  square  on  the  white  ground  looks  dark, 
nearly  black.  Now  after-images  and  irradiations  are  very  weak 
when  the  colors  are  thus  seen  through  translucent  media,  so 
that  it  may  be  assumed  that  the  phenomenon  described  is  a 
psychical  contrast.  If,  again,  a  strip  of  black  cardboard  which 
is  also  covered  with  the  transparent  paper,  and  is  therefore 
exactly  the  same  gray  as  the  two  squares,  is  held  in  such  a 
position  that  it  connects  the  two  squares,  the  contrast  will  be 
entirely  removed,  or,  at  least,  very  much  diminished.  If  in  this 
experiment  a  colored  ground  is  used  instead  of  the  achromatic 
ground,  the  gray  squares  will  appear  very  clearly  in  the  corre- 
sponding complementary  color.  But  here,  too,  the  contrast 
can  be  made  to  disappear  through  comparison  with  an  inde- 
pendent gray  object. 

12.  Similar  contrasts  appear  also  in  other  spheres  of  sensa- 
tion when  the  conditions  for  their  demonstration  are  favor- 
able. They  are  also  especially  marked  in  the  case  of  feelings 
and  may  arise  under  proper  conditions  in  the  case  of  spatial 
and  temporal  ideas.  Sensations  of  pitch  are  relatively  most  free 
from  contrast,  for  most  persons  have  a  well  developed  ability 
to  recognize  absolute  pitch  and  this  probably  tends  to  overcome 
contrast.  In  the  case  oi  feelings  the  effect  of  contrast  is  intimately 
connected  with  the  natural  opposition  between  effective  quali- 
ties. Thus,  pleasurable  feelings  are  intensified  by  unpleasant 
feelings  immediately  preceding,  and  the  same  holds  for  many 
feelings  of  relaxation  following  feelings  of  strain,  as  for  example 
in  the  case  of  a  feeling  of  fulfilment  after  expectation.  The  effect 
of  contrast  in  the  case  of  spatial  and  temporal  ideas  is  most 
obvious  when  the  same  spatial  or  temporal  interval  is  compared 
alternately  with  a  longer  and  with  a  shorter  interval.  In  such 
cases  the  interval  appears  different;  in  comparison  with  the 
shorter  it  appears  greater,  in  comparison  with  the  longer, 
smaller.  Here,  too,  the  contrast  between  spatial  ideas  can  be 


720  WILHELM  WUNDT 

removed  by  bringing  an  object  between  the  contrasted  figures 
in  such  a  way  that  it  is  possible  easily  to  relate  them. 

13.  We  may  regard  the  phenomena  which  result  from  the 
apperception  of  an  impression  the  real  character  of  which  dif- 
fers from  the  character  expected,  as  special  modifications  of 
psychical  contrast.  For  example,  if  we  are  prepared  to  Hft  a 
heavy  weight,  and  find  in  the  actual  lifting  of  the  weight  that 
it  proves  to  be  light,  or  if  we  lift  a  heavy  weight  when  we  ex- 
pected a  light  one,  the  result  is  in  the  first  case  an  underestima- 
tion, in  the  second  an  overestimation  of  the  real  weight.  If  a 
series  of  exactly  equal  weights  of  different  sizes  are  made  to 
vary  in  size  so  that  they  look  hke  a  set  of  weights  varying 
regularly  from  a  lighter  to  a  heavier  they  will  appear  to  be  dif- 
ferent in  weight  when  raised.  The  smallest  will  seem  to  be  the 
heaviest  and  the  largest  to  be  the  lightest.  The  famihar  as- 
sociation that  the  greater  volume  is  connected  with  the  greater 
mass  determines  in  this  case  the  tendency  of  expectation.  The 
false  estimation  of  the  weight  then  results  from  the  contrast 
between  the  real  and  the  expected  sensation. 

B.  Complex  Apperceptive  Functions.  (Synthesis  and  Analysis). 

14.  When  the  simple  processes  of  relating  and  comparing 
are  repeated  and  combined  several  times,  the  complex  psychical 
functions  of  synthesis  and  analysis  arise.  Synthesis  is  primarily 
the  product  of  the  relating  activity  of  apperception,  analysis 
of  the  comparing  activity. 

As  a  combining  function  apperceptive  synthesis  is  based 
upon  fusions  and  associations.  It  differs  from  fusions  and  as- 
sociations in  the  fact  that  some  of  the  ideational  and  affective 
elements  which  are  brought  forward  by  the  association  are 
voluntarily  emphasized  and  others  are  pushed  into  the  back- 
ground. The  motives  for  the  choice  between  the  elements  can 
be  explained  only  from  the  whole  previous  development  of  the 
individual  consciousness.  As  a  result  of  this  voluntary  activity 
the  product  of  this  synthesis  is  a  complex  in  which  all  the  com- 
ponents are  derived  from  former  sense  perceptions  and  associa- 
tions, but  in  which  the  combination  of  these  components  may 
differ  more  or  less  from  the  original  forms. 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  721 

The  ideational  elements  of  a  compound  thus  resulting  from 
apperceptive  synthesis  may  be  regarded  as  the  substratum 
for  the  rest  of  its  contents,  and  so  we  call  such  a  compound  in 
general  an  aggregate  idea.  When  the  combination  of  the  elements 
is  peculiar,  that  is,  markedly  different  from  the  products  of 
associations,  the  aggregate  idea  and  each  of  its  relatively  in- 
dependent ideational  components  is  called  an  idea  of  imagina- 
tion or  image  of  imagination.  Since  the  voluntary  synthesis  may 
vary  more  or  less  from  the  combinations  presented  in  sense 
perception  and  association,  it  follows  that  practically  no  sharp 
line  of  demarcation  can  be  drawn  between  images  of  imagina- 
tion and  those  of  memory.  But  we  have  a  more  essential  mark 
of  the  apperceptive  process  in  the  positive  characteristic  which 
appears  in  the  fact  that  it  depends  on  a  voluntary  synthesis, 
than  we  have  in  the  negative  fact  that  the  combination  does 
not  correspond  in  character  to  any  particular  sense  perception. 
This  positive  characteristic  is  also  the  source  of  a  most  striking 
difference  between  images  of  imagination  and  those  of  memory. 
The  difference  in  question  consists  in  the  fact  that  the  sensation 
elements  of  an  apperceptive  compound  are  much  more  like 
those  of  an  immediate  sense  perception  in  clearness  and  dis- 
tinctness, and  usually  also  in  completeness  and  intensity.  This 
is  easily  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  reciprocally  inhibitory 
influences  which  the  uncontrolled  associations  exercise  on  one 
another,  and  which  prevent  the  formation  of  fixed  memory 
images,  are  diminished  or  removed  by  the  voluntary  empha- 
sizing of  certain  particular  ideational  compounds.  It  is  possible 
to  mistake  images  of  imagination  for  real  experiences.  In  the 
case  of  memory  images  this  is  possible  only  when  they  become 
images  of  imagination,  that  is,  when  the  memories  are  no  longer 
allowed  to  arise  passively,  but  are  to  some  extent  produced  by 
the  will.  Generally,  there  are  such  voluntary  modifications  of 
memories  through  a  mixing  of  real  with  imagined  elements. 
All  our  memories  are  therefore  made  up  of  "fancy  and  truth. "  ^ 
Memory  images  thus  change  under  the  influence  of  our  feelings 
and  volition  to  images  of  imagination,  and  we  generally  deceive 
ourselves  with  their  resemblance  to  real  experiences. 

1  Dichtung  und  Wahrhcit. 


722  WILHELM  WUNDT 

15.  From  the  aggregate  ideas  which  thus  result  from  apper- 
ceptive synthesis  there  arise  two  forms  of  apperceptive  analysis 
which  work  themselves  out  in  opposite  directions.  The  one  is 
known  in  popular  parlance  as  activity  of  the  imagination,  the 
second  as  activity  of  the  understanding.  The  two  are  by  no 
means  absolutely  different,  as  might  be  surmised  from  these 
names,  but  are,  rather,  closely  related  and  always  connected 
with  each  other.  Their  fundamental  determining  motives  are 
what  distinguish  them  and  condition  all  their  secondary  dif- 
ferences and  also  the  reaction  which  they  exercise  on  the  syn- 
thetic function. 

In  the  case  of  the  activity  of  ^^  imagination^^  the  motive  is 
the  reproduction  of  real  complexes  of  experience  or  of  experi- 
ences analogous  to  reality.  This  is  the  earlier  form  of  apperceptive 
analysis  and  arises  directly  from  association.  It  begins  with  a 
more  or  less  comprehensive  aggregate  idea  made  up  of  a  variety 
of  ideational  and  affective  elements  and  embracing  the  general 
content  of  a  complex  experience  in  which  the  single  compo- 
nents are  only  indefinitely  distinguished.  The  aggregate  idea 
is  then  divided  in  a  series  of  successive  acts  into  a  number  of 
more  definite,  connected  compounds,  partly  spatial,  partly 
temporal  in  character.  The  primary  voluntary  synthesis  is 
thus  followed  by  analytic  acts  which  may  in  turn  give  rise  to 
the  motives  for  a  new  synthesis  and  thus  to  a  repetition  of 
the  whole  process  with  a  partially  modified,  or  more  limited 
aggregate  idea. 

The  activity  of  imagination  shows  two  stages  of  development. 
The  first  is  more  passive  and  arises  directly  from  the  ordinary 
memory  function.  It  appears  continually  in  the  train  of  thought 
especially  in  the  form  of  an  anticipation  of  the  future,  and  plays 
an  important  part  in  psychical  development  as  a  preparation 
or  antecedent  of  volitions.  It  may,  however,  in  an  analogous 
way,  appear  as  a  representation  in  thought  of  imaginary  situa- 
tions or  of  successions  of  external  phenomena.  The  second,  or 
active,  form  of  imagination  is  under  the  influence  of  a  fixed 
idea  of  some  end,  and  therefore  presupposes  a  high  degree  of 
voluntary  control  over  the  images  of  imagination,  and  a  strong 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  723 

interference,  partly  inhibitory,  partly  selective,  with  the  mem- 
ory images  that  tend  to  push  themselves  into  consciousness 
without  voluntary  action.  Even  the  first  synthesis  of  the  ag- 
gregate idea  is  more  systematic  when  produced  by  this  active 
process.  And  an  aggregate  idea,  when  once  formed  in  this  way, 
is  held  more  firmly  and  subjected  to  a  more  complete  analysis 
than  in  passive  imagination.  Very  often  the  components  them- 
selves are  subordinate  aggregate  ideas  to  which  the  same  pro- 
cess of  analysis  is  again  appUed.  In  this  way  the  principle  of 
organic  division  according  to  the  end  in  view  governs  all  the 
products  and  processes  of  active  imagination.  The  produc- 
tions of  art  show  this  most  clearly.  Still,  there  are,  in  the  ordi- 
nary play  of  imagination,  the  most  various  intermediate  stages 
between  passive  imagination,  or  that  which  arises  directly 
from  memory,  arid  active  imagination,  or  that  which  is  directed 
by  fixed  ends. 

16.  In  contrast  with  this  imagination  or  imaginative  re- 
production of  real  experiences,  or  of  experiences  which  may 
be  thought  of  as  real,  the  function  of  the  ''understanding"  is 
the  perception  of  agreements  and  differences  and  other  derived 
logical  relations  between  contents  of  experience.  Understanding 
also  begins  with  aggregate  ideas  in  which  a  number  of  expyeri- 
ences  which  are  real  or  may  be  ideated  as  real,  are  voluntarily 
set  in  relation  to  one  another  and  combined  into  a  unitary  whole. 
The  analysis  which  takes  place  in  this  case,  however,  is  turned 
by  its  fundamental  motive  in  a  different  direction.  Such  analy- 
sis consists  not  merely  in  a  clearer  grasp  of  the  single  compo- 
nents of  the  aggregate  idea,  but  it  consists  also  in  the  establish- 
ment of  the  manifold  relations  which  exist  between  the  various 
components  and  which  we  may  discover  through  comparison. 
In  establishing  such  relations  it  is  possible,  as  soon  as  analyses 
have  been  made  several  times,  to  introduce  into  any  particular 
case  the  results  gained  through  relating  and  comparing  processes 
which  were  carried  out  on  other  occasions. 

As  a  consequence  of  this  stricter  application  of  the  element- 
ary relating,  and  comparing  functions,  the  activity  of  under- 
standing follows  definite  rules  even  in  its  external  form,  especi- 


724  WILHELM  WUNDT 

ally  when  it  is  highly  developed.  The  fact  which  showed  itself 
in  the  case  of  imagination  and  even  of  memory,  appears  here  in 
a  developed  form.  The  fact  in  question  is  that  the  apperceived 
relations  between  the  various  psychical  contents  are  presented 
in  imagination  and  memory,  not  merely  simultaneously,  but 
successively,  so  that  we  proceed  fiom  one  relation  to  the  next, 
and  so  on.  In  the  case  of  understanding,  this  successive  present- 
ation of  relations  develops  into  the  discursive  division  of  the 
aggregate  idea.  This  is  expressed  in  the  law  of  the  duality  of  the 
logical  forms  of  thought,  according  to  which,  analysis  resulting 
from  relating  comparison  divides  the  content  of  the  aggre- 
gate idea  into  two  parts,  subject  and  predicate,  and  may  then 
separate  each  of  these  parts  again  once  or  several  times.  These 
secondary  divisions  give  rise  to  grammatical  forms  which  stand 
in  a  logical  relation  analogous  to  that  of  subject  and  predicate, 
such  as  noun  and  attributive,  verb  and  object,  verb  and  ad- 
verb. In  this  way  the  process  of  apperceptive  analysis  results 
in  a  judgment  which  finds  expression  in  the  sentence. 

For  the  psychological  explanation  of  judgment  it  is  of  funda- 
mental importance  that  judgment  be  regarded,  not  as  a  sjni- 
thetic,  but  as  an  analytic  function.  The  original  aggregate  ideas 
which  are  divided  by  judgment  into  their  reciprocally  related 
components,  are  exactly  like  ideas  of  imagination.  The  pro- 
ducts of  analysis  which  result  from  judgment  are,  on  the  other 
hand,  not  as  in  the  case  of  imagination,  images  of  more  limited 
extent  and  greater  clearness,  but  conceptual  ideas,  that  is,  ideas 
which  stand,  with  regard  to  other  partial  ideas  of  the  same 
\Yhole,  in  some  one  of  the  relations  which  are  discovered  through 
the  general  relating  and  comparing  functions.  If  we  call  the 
aggregate  idea  which  is  subjected  to  such  a  relating  analysis 
a  thought,  then  a.  judgment  is  a  division  of  this  thought  into  its 
components,  and  a  concept  is  the  product  of  such  a  division. 

17.  Concepts  found  in  this  way  are  arranged  in  certain 
general  classes  according  to  the  character  of  the  analyses 
which  produced  them.  These  classes  are  the  concepts  of  objects, 
concepts  of  attributes,  and  concepts  of  states.  Judgment  as  a 
division  of  the.  aggregate  idea,  sets  an  object  in  relation  to  its 


OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY  725 

attributes  or  states,  or  it  sets  various  objects  in  relation  to  one 
another.  Since  a  single  concept  can  never,  strictly  speaking, 
be  thought  of  by  itself,  but  is  always  connected  in  the  whole 
idea  with  one  or  more  other  concepts,  the  conceptual  ideas 
are  strikingly  different  from  the  ideas  of  imagination  because 
of  the  indeiiniteness  and  variableness  of  the  former.  This 
indefiniteness  is  essentially  increased  by  the  fact  that  as 
a  result  of  the  like  outcome  of  different  kinds  of  judgment, 
concepts  arise  which  may  form  components  of  many  ideas 
which  differ  in  their  concrete  characters.  A  concept  of  this 
kind  can  therefore  be  used  in  a  great  variety  of  different  ap- 
plications. Such  general  concepts  constitute,  on  account  of 
the  wide  application  of  relating  analysis  to  different  contents 
of  judgment,  the  great  majority  of  all  concepts;  and  they 
have  a  greater  or  smaller  number  of  corresponding  single 
ideational  contents.  A  single  idea  is  selected  from  this  group 
of  contents  as  a  representative  of  the  concept.  This  gives 
the  conceptual  idea  of  a  greater  definiteness.  At  the  same 
time  there  is  always  connected  with  this  idea  the  conscious- 
ness that  it  is  merely  a  representative.  This  consciousness 
generally  takes  the  form  of  a  characteristic  feeling,  the  conceptual 
feeling.  This  feeling  may  be  traced  to  the  fact  that  obscure 
ideas,  which  have  the  attributes  which  make  them  suitable 
to  serve  as  representations  of  the  concept,  tend  to  force  them- 
selves into  consciousness  in  the  form  of  memory  images.  As 
evidence  of  this  we  have  the  fact  that  the  feeling  is  very  in- 
tense when  any  concrete  image  of  the  concept  is  chosen  as 
its  representative,  as  for  example  when  a  particular  individual 
stands  for  the  concept  man,  while  it  disappears  almost  en- 
tirely as  soon  as  the  representative  idea  differs  entirely  in 
content  from  the  objects  included  under  the  concept.  Word 
ideas  fulfill  this  latter  condition  and  that  is  what  gives  them 
their  importance  as  universal  aids  to  thought.  Word  ideas 
are  furnished  to  the  individual  consciousness  in  a  finished 
state,  so  that  we  must  leave  to  social  psychology  the  ques- 
tion of  the  psychological  development  of  the  processes  of 
thought  which  are  active  in  their  formation. 


726  WILHELM  WUNDT 

i8.  From  all  that  has  been  said  it  appears  that  the  activ- 
ities of  imagination  and  understanding  are  not  specifically 
different,  but  interrelated;  that  they  are  inseparable  in  their 
rise  and  manifestations,  and  are  based  at  bottom  on  the  same 
fundamental  functions  of  apperceptive  synthesis  and  analysis. 
What  was  true  of  the  concept  **  memory  "  ^  holds  also  of  the  con- 
cepts ^^understanding"  and  "imagination";  they  are  names, 
not  of  unitary  forces  or  faculties,  but  of  complex  phenomena 
made  up  of  the  usual  elementary  psychical  processes;  they  are 
not  made  up  of  elementary  processes  of  a  specific,  distinct  kind. 
Just  as  memory  is  a  general  concept  for  certain  associative  pro- 
cesses, so  imagination  and  understanding  are  general  concepts 
for  particular  forms  of  apperceptive  activity.  They  have  a 
certain  practical  value  as  ready  means  for  the  classification  of 
a  variety  of  differences  in  the  capacity  of  various  persons  for 
intellectual  activity.  Each  class  thus  found  may  in  turn  con- 
tain an  endless  variety  of  gradations  and  shades.  Thus,  neg- 
lecting the  general  differences  in  grade,  we  have  as  the  chief 
forms  of  individual  imagination  the  perceptive  and  combining 
forms;  as  the  chief  forms  of  understanding,  the  inductive  and 
deductive  forms,  the  first  being  mainly  concerned  with  the  single 
logical  relations  and  their  combinations,  the  second  more 
with  general  concepts  and  their  analysis.  A  person's  talent  is 
his  total  capacity  resulting  from  the  special  tendencies  of  both 
his  imagination  and  understanding. 

*  Outlines  of  Psychology,  p.  277. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Abstraction,  486. 

AfiFections,  93-96. 

Agreement,  485,  490-496. 

Alban,  St.,  160. 

Albertus  Magnus,  210. 

Alcmaeon,  9. 

Analysis,  720-726. 

Anaxagoras,  i,  6,  7,  8,  70,  72, 121,  122. 

Andrew,  St.,  157. 

Anger,  4,  34,  167. 

Animals,  13,  25,  67,  70,  79,  139-142, 

221-224,  364,  372,  694. 
Antipater,  86. 

Apperception,  222,  711-726. 
Appetite,  51,  81,  164-167,  182,  518. 
Apollodorus,  86. 
Archer,  William,  665. 
Aristotle,  i-io,  45-83,  117,  121,  122, 

139,  140,  141,  189,  209,  213. 
Assimilation,  590-594. 
Association,    156-160,    202-204,   313- 

330,  463-504,  711-726. 
Atoms,  8,  96,  213-214. 
Attention,  317,  33^-337,  345,  354,  360. 
Attribute,  4,  5,  95,  193-195,  203. 
Augustine,  Saint,  120,  132-137. 
Avenarius,  610. 
Axioms,  192,  365,  366. 

Bacon,  John,  210. 

Bain,  Alexander,  463,  483-504. 

Baly,  William,  530-544. 

Beauty,  25,  37,  129,  130,  443, 446-447- 

Belief,  160-163,  362-367,  373. 

Beneke,FriedrichEduard, 416-431, 621. 

Berkeley,  George,  256-278,  646. 

Bichat,  456. 

Blindness,  262-263,  272-277,  283,  331, 
532,  556. 

Blood,  171,  185,537,594- 

Body,  4,  23,  45-50,  91-112,  118,  135, 
143-146, 169-184, 197-222,  332-335, 
413-41S,  426-436,  565,  599-608,  693. 


Brown,  Thomas,  374-394. 
Bythus,  121. 

Caesar,  Julius,  366. 

Causality,  198,  204,  289-294,  302-312, 

480-1. 
Cause,  final,  52-56,  221,  225. 
Cerebellum,  316. 
Child,  445,  471. 
Chrysippus,  84,  86,  118. 
Cicero,  117. 
Cleanthes,  117,  118. 
Cleon,  62,  74. 

Cognition,  i,  11-26,  37,  75-77,  7io. 
Color,  24,  61,  141,  146,  245,  283,  292, 

474,  522,532,582,600,601,612,630. 
Color-vision,  16,  149,  247,  264,  331, 

476-477,  573-581,  596. 
Commodus,  165. 
Common-sense,  62-66. 
Common  sensibles,  60-62. 
Concepts,  395-413,  435-437,  691-696, 

724-725. 
Conception,  148-149,  155,  161,  165. 
Condillac,  fitienne  Bonnot  de,  341-360. 
Connection,  necessary,  253-255,  257, 

271-273.  301,  302-312. 
Consciousness,  361,  398,  401-403,  424, 

506-526,  565-572,  591,  633-655,685- 

690. 
Cordemoi,  213. 
Contiguity,   301,  3 "-3 12,   480,   485^ 

499-503- 
Critias,  9,  117. 
Critolaus,  117. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  366. 
Cyclops,  85. 

Darwin,  538.  669,  670. 
Davies,  J.  L.,  27-44. 
Democritus,  i,  6,  7,  8,  122,  211,  213. 
Descartes,  Ren6,   168-190,  213,  214, 
656. 


730 


INDEX 


De  Sens,  175. 

Desire,  51,  78-80,  356-358,  442.457. 

Development,  psychical,  416-433. 

Dieterici,  C,  579. 

Diogenes,  8,  622. 

Diogenes  Laertius,  84-96. 

Disease,  18,  88,  127,  131,  155. 

Dissimilation,  590-594. 

Distance,  perception  of,  256-278,  362, 

363,  616. 
Don  Quixote,  366, 

Dreams,  18,  19,  93,  215,  321,  328,  469. 
Dressier,  J.  G.,  416. 
Drobisch,  Moritz  Wilhelm,  432-447. 
Du  Bois-Reymond,  585. 
Duncan,  George  Martin,  208-228. 
Dyde,  Samuel  Walters,  11-26. 
DjTiamics,  218,  432-447. 

Ear,  126,  265,  267,  338. 

EfiFort,  448-462. 

Elements,  20,  21,  24,  597-618. 

Elliott,  538. 

Embryo,  142. 

Emotion,  87,  88,  121,  125,  127,  163- 

190,  28s,  389, 486, 490, 496, 508, 655- 

684,697-705. 
Empedocles,  i,  7, 12, 54, 65, 73, 117. 
Endowment,  125-131. 
Energy,  114,  115,  303,  538,  565. 
Entelechies,  210. 
Epicurus,  89-96,  117. 
Error,  93,  186,  187,  211. 
Ethics,  191-207. 
Eubulus,  117. 
Euripides,  15. 
Evolution,  505-629. 
Experience,  158-159,  249,  268, 270, 276, 

435,  610,  653,  6>6,  686,  693,  723. 
Extension,  193-203,  256-278,  380-389, 

474-476. 
Eye,  105,  126,  257-278,  533,  S34,  SSO- 

554. 

Faculties,  24,  27-41,  4S-83,  lOQ.  124, 

148,  331-340,  445-447. 
Faculty-psychology,  229-231. 
Fatigue,  336,  378,  591. 
Fear,  166,  167,  356-358,  382,  656-^8, 

682-683. 


Fechfter,    Gustav   Theodor,    562-572, 

586,  587,  588,  596. 
Feeling,  139,  221,  442-445.  483,  5oS- 

529,  63s,  655-684,  69s, 697-705,  725. 
Feeling,  common,  557-561. 
Feeling,  muscular,  374-380,  553-556. 
Fibres,  334-340,  S7S-S8i. 
Findlater,  Andrew,  463. 
Force,  144,  209,  210,  231, 395-408,  694. 
Form,  50, 138-142. 
Formula,  measurement,  565-572. 
Franklin,  504. 

Free-will,  177, 186,  188,  215. 
Fusion,  tonal,  619-632. 

Galton,  Mr.,  646. 

Gay,  Rev.  William,  313. 

Genius,  503,  504,  653. 

Geometry,  2,  295. 

Gland,  pineal,  173-180. 

Glaucon,  27-44. 

Gloucester,  Duke  of,  160. 

Goethe,  538,  597,  638. 

Goldsmith,  378. 

Good  and  evil,  81, 130, 146, 186, 225. 

Greeks,  97,  120. 

Gregory  of  Nyssa,  125-131. 

Green,  T.  H.,  279. 

Grose,  T.  H.,  279. 

Grote,  George,  463. 

Habit,  324,  339,  354,  486,  601. 

Haddon,  Arthur  West,  132-137. 

Hagenauer,  Rev.  Mr.,  667. 

Haller,  456. 

Hamilton,  Sir  William,  486. 

Hammond,  William  Alexander,  45-83. 

Hand,  425,  517,  710. 

Harmony,  64,  217-228,  372,  648. 

Hartley,  David,  313-330,  482. 

Hartsoeker,  211. 

Harvey,  171. 

Hearing,  63,  149,  538-542,  S57-56i, 

630. 
Heart,  125, 127, 128, 139, 163, 171, 175. 
Hecaton,  86. 
Hector,  6. 
Hedge,  Levi,  374. 
Heidenhain,  615. 
Helmholtz, Hermann  von,  573-581, 637. 


J 


INDEX 


731 


HeracHtus,  9, 12,  22,  91, 117. 
Herbart,  Johann  Friedrich,  395-415, 

621,  622,  637. 
Hering,  Ewald,  582-596. 
Hermogenes,  123. 
Herschell,  587. 
Herveaeus,  171. 
Hicks,  R.  D.,  1-13. 
Hipparchus,  117. 
Hippon,  9,  117. 
Hjort,  538. 

Hobbes,  Thomas,  147-167. 
Holberg,  676. 
Holmes,  Peter,  116-124. 
Homer,  7,  12,  13,  32,  36,  65. 
Hume,  David,  279-312,  486,  643,  646. 
Huxley,  Prof.,  646. 
Hypostasis,  113. 

Ideas,  191-207,  232-246,  299,  313. 
Ideas,  association  of,  287-293,  315-330, 

463-504. 
Ideas,  dynamics  of,  432-447. 
Ideas,  equilibrium  of,  397-400,  418, 

443-445- 
Ideas,  inhibition  of,  439-442. 
Identity,  253,  291,  298. 
Illusion,  148-152,  538. 
Images,  38,  77-78,  91,  92,  148,  495, 

545-546,  553,  650,  725. 
Imagination,  66-70,  77,  82,  148,  153- 

156,  201,  286-287,  293,  314, 337-338, 

351,  560,  626,  712,  721-726. 
Immortality,  9,  41-44,  106,  123,  217. 
Impressions,  279-285, 297,303, 329, 330- 
Inhibition,  439-442. 
Instinct,  460,  656. 

Intellect,  93,  113-115,  125-131,  483. 
Interest,  653,  654,  712. 
Irrationality,  122-123. 
Irritability,  459. 

Jacobus,  139. 

James,  William,  633-671,  684. 
Jeppe  am  Berge,  676-677. 
Johnson,  502. 
Jones,  Owen,  617. 
Judd,  Charles  Hubbard,  697-726. 
Judgment,  65,  93,  247,  345,  390,  714, 
724. 


Kaye,  Bp.,  119. 

Kant,  433,  454. 

Kepler,  563. 

King,  Archbishop,  313. 

Knowledge,    160-163,   253-255,   294- 

297,  648. 
Koenig,  A.,  579. 
Komma,  558. 

Ladd,  George  Trumbull,  545-556. 

Land,  J.  P.,  191. 

Lange,  Carl  Georg,  672-684. 

Langfeld,  Herbert  Sidney,  562-572. 

Language,  267,  271,  278,  368,  469,  641. 

Latins,  163. 

Laughter,  127,  128. 

Law,  Archdeacon,  313. 

Law,  Hering's,  582-596. 

Law,  Weber-Fechner,  557-572. 

Lear,  502. 

Leibnitz,  Gottfried  Wilhelm  von,  208- 

228. 
Leontius,  34. 
Leucippus,  6. 
Lichtenberg,  608. 
Light-sensation,   156,   176,  331,    532- 

535,  582-596. 
Local  signs,  545-556. 
Locke,  John,  232-255,  276,  280,  315, 

324,  454,  639. 
Lotze,  Rudolf  Hermann,  545-556,  655. 
Lucretius,  97-105,  118. 

Mach,  Ernst,  597-618. 

Machine,  213,  219,  333. 

Magnitude,  71,  no,  256,  267-272,  716, 

717. 
Maine  de  Biran,  448-462. 
Malebranche,  211. 
Man,  138-142,  192-196,  313-330. 
Mantegazza,  669,  671. 
Materialism,  427,  431. 
Mathematics,  275,  296,  503. 
Matter,  50, 108, 143, 144,  239, 334, 693. 
Maxwell,  578,  579. 

Measurement,  psychical,  562-574,  715. 
Melissus,  213. 
Melloni,  587. 
Memory,  202,  221,  286-287,  314,  337, 

381, 405,  436,  486-490,  694,  712,  726. 


73a 


INDEX 


Mersenne,  175. 

Metaphysics,  224,  426,  545,  597-610. 

Method,  689. 

Mill,  James,  463-482. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  463,  632. 

Mind,  97-105,  120-122,  132-135,  191- 

207,  235,  306, 313, 433-440, 463-480, 

505-529,  692,  694. 
Modes,  192-200,  251,  292-293. 
Molesworth,  Sir  William,  147. 
Molyneux,  Mr.,  247,  276. 
Monads,  220-226. 
Movement,  52,  57, 82, 91, 150, 170,  225, 

246,  263,  304,  328, 377,  550,  707. 
Mueller,  Johannes,  530-544,  579.  597- 
Munro,  H.  A.  J.,  97-105. 
Muscle,  377,  384,  449,  489,  660,  669, 

709. 
Music,  165,  228, 411, 487, 558,  561, 648. 

Nature,  130,  194,  208-228,  299,  464, 

530. 
Nerve,  316-320, 416,  538,  542,  573-581. 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  315,  317,  318,  319, 

503. 
Nous,  8,  120. 

Number,  291,  292,  294,  299, 473. 
Nutrition,  45, 48,  51,  53-56,  79, 81,  224. 

Object,  60,  84,  85,  230,  361-367,  373. 

Observation,  249,  305. 

Odour,  341-360,  368,  497,  535,  600. 

Ogilvie,  502. 

Optics,  257,  261,  573-581. 

Pain,  49, 87, 98,  loi,  109, 152,  241,  285, 

313. 342-356,  530,  606,  678. 
Paradise  Lost,  504. 
Parmenides,  12,  213. 
Parr,  Samuel,  313. 
Perception,  11-26,  54-60,  84,  no,  192, 

220, 246-249, 338, 361-367, 412,  416, 

417,  606,  658,  661. 
Personality,   212,  333,  359,  455-462, 

601-609. 
Phenomena,    psychical,    92,    432-435, 

463-480. 
Philosophy,  16,  209,  290,  297,  300,  462. 
Physicist,  4,  5.  503,  608,  609. 
Physiology,  4i7>  4Si.  S30-S44, 685-691. 


Piderit,  670. 

Plants,  47,  48,  52,  54. 

Plato,  7, 11-44, 116,  117,  iiS,  122, 123, 

182. 
Pleasure,  49,  75,  90, 152, 163,  165,  228, 

241,  314,  342-356,  488,  606. 
Pliny,  211. 
Plotinus,  106-115. 
Power,  148,  229-231,  242,  246,  302- 

312. 
Power,  muscular,  489-490. 
Probability,  294-300. 
Protagoras,  11-22. 
Psychology,     associational,     313-330, 

463-504. 
Psychology,  empirical,  147-167,  232- 

312,432-447. 
Psychology,  evolutional,  505-529. 
Psychology,  foundations  of,  448-462. 
Psychology,  mathematical,  395-447. 
Psychology,     physiological,     331-340, 

530-726. 
Psychology,  rational,  229-231. 
Psychophysics,  530-544,  557-572,  596, 

688. 
Purkinje,  538. 
Pythagoreans,  6. 

Qualities,  243-246,  299. 
Quantity,  294,  408. 

Rand,    Benjamin,    125-131,    138-146, 

331-340,  416-462,  557-561,  573-596, 

672-684. 
Rand,  Edward  Kennard,  229-231. 
Rationality,  122-123,  138-142,  653. 
Reaction,  muscular,  708-711. 
Reason,  70-73,  78-80,  130,  483,  643, 

692. 
Reason,  sufficient,  224,  230. 
Reflection,  234-238,  240-242,  252,  285, 

332. 
Reid,  Thomas,  361-373. 
Relation,  249-255,  290-292,  291-301, 

505-510,  523,  621,  648,  650. 
Relativity,  law  of,  483. 
Reminiscence,  physics  of,  335-336. 
Repetition,  472,  473,  487. 
Resemblance,  291,  292,  294,  305,  480, 

481.    ., 


INDEX 


733 


Resistance,  277, 374-389, 396, 397, 448, 

462. 
Retina,  511,  SAJSSO,  559,  573- 
Rhythm,  628,  645,  651. 
Ribot,  Th.,  684. 
Ritter,  535,  538. 
Roman,  202. 
Rudiment,  419-431. 

Saturation,  577. 

Schopenhauer,  597. 

Science,  32,  50,  160-162,  416-431,  597, 

609,  689,  690,  694,  695. 
Seebeck,  587. 
Selby-Bigge,  T.,  279. 
Self,  133,  448-462,  598-608,  635,  640. 
Self-consciousness,  416,  418,  426,  434. 
Sensation,  49,  56-66,  85,  86,  94,  108, 

230,  234-249, 285, 313, 316-324, 341- 

360,  367-373,  463-482,  520,  530,  544, 

562-574,  597-618,  652,  714. 
Sensations,    auditory,    530,    557-561, 

619-632. 
Sensations,  muscular,  374-380. 
Sensations,  olfactory,  71, 157,  318,  322, 

341-360,  531-532,  635. 
Sensations,  tactual,  52,  519,  554-561, 

606. 
Sensations,  visual,  256-278,  582-596, 

718. 
Sense,  inner,  448-462. 
Senses,  62,  85,  106,  148-162,  192,  236, 

336,  361-389,  530-544- 
Sensibility,  316,  445. 
Sensorium,  317,  318,  537,  540,  543. 
Signs,  local,  545-556. 
Sight,  16,  62,  256-278,  476,  557-561. 
Similarity,  485-486,  490-496,  502-503. 
Sleep,  19,  46,  153,  231,  279,  322,  533- 
Smell,  52,  64,  126,  152,  319,  341-360, 

369- 
Smith,  Margaret  K.,  395-415- 
Socrates,  11-44,  85,  121,  142. 
Solidity,  238-240,  248,  276,  277,  308, 

476. 
Soul,  i-io,  27-46,  84,  106-126,  138- 

146, 168-190, 209-219,  229-231,331- 

340,413-415,424-431- 
Sound;  61,  71,  292,  369,  372,  520,  557- 

561,  600,  601,  604,  619-632,  652. 


Space,  74,  239,  248,  274,  291,  513,  544, 

545,  548,  552,  556,  621. 
Space-perception,  380-389,  544,  611- 

618. 
Species,  2, 141, 142, 165. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  505-529,  668,  669, 

671. 
Spinoza,  Baruch  de,  191-207. 
Spirit,  210,  226,  227,  445-447,  693-694. 
Stewart,  Dugald,  468. 
Stimulus,  450,  562-572,  624,  706-709, 

717. 
Stoics,  84-88,  117,  228. 
Striving,  418,  439. 
Substance,  45,  53,  144,  191-199,  218- 

220,  229,  251-252,  290,  292-293. 
Suggestion,  389-394. 
Sumichrast,  Frederick  de,  341-360. 
Symmetry,  616,  617. 
S3Tiergy,  specific,  631. 
Syrians,  139. 
Synthesis,  720-726. 

Taine,  M.,  654. 

Talent,  726. 

Taste,  64,  152,  238,  245,  318-324,  371, 

498,  512,  521,  530,  535,  543- 
Tension,  418.     . 
TertuUian,  1 16-124. 
Tethys,  12. 
Thales,  8,  117. 
Thaumas,  16. 
Theaetetus,  11-26. 
Theodorus,  25. 
Thomas  Aquinas,  138-146. 
Thought,  3,  56-77,  156-160,  490,  643, 

648. 
Time,  291,  294,  298,  381,  486,  498,  506, 

522,  524,  647. 
Titchener,  Edward  Bradford,  558, 685- 

696. 
Tone,  557-561,  619-632. 
Torrey,  Henry  A.  P.,  168-190. 
Touch,  51,  52,  239-240,  247,  256,  266, 

273, 370,  376,  380-389,  514,  530-531, 

557-561. 
Traces,  419-423. 
Treviranus,  544- 
Truth,   25,   26,   73-75,  93,   ^59,  160, 

161. 


734 


INDEX 


Understanding,  I3S-I37.  207,  232-255, 

445,  722-726. 
Unity,  140,  209,  216,  241-242,  607. 

Valentinus,  121. 

Van  Vloten,  J.,  191. 

Vaughan,  D.  J.,  27-44. 

Vibrations,  doctrine  of,  3 1 3-33°!  ^39>  S3  7- 

Vibratiuncles,  322. 

Vis  repraesentiva,  231. 

Vision,  149,  256-278,  521,  542,  550, 

573-581. 
Volition,  81,  179,  183,  205,  206,  240- 

241, 483, 486, 496, 606,  697-711. 

Wagner,  R.,  557. 


Weber,  Ernst  Heinrich,  544,557-561, 

717,  718- 
Weber's  Law,  5S7-S72,  717.  7i8. 
Weight,  474,  559.  561,  595-596,  720. 
Wm,  78,  88,  125,  135-137,  145-146, 

165-167,  207,  240-241,  314, 334, 356, 

446,697-711. 
Wisdom,  112, 159,  213,  225. 
Wolff,  Christian  von,  229-231. 
Wundt,  Wilhelm,  669,  670,  687-726. 

Yonge,  Charles  D.,  84-96. 
Young,  Thomas,  573-581,  583' 

Zeno,  84-88,  117,  642. 
Zenocrates,  117. 


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